Warrior's Way
by Casmoiraitiel
Summary: Sequel to "Preparing the Way."  The NCIS team must aide the Winchester brothers in the task set for them by Castiel.  Broken, bloody, and beaten, they must pull themselves together before it's too late.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Welcome back for your next installment, the sequel to "Preparing the Way." I hope you enjoy. :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or NCIS, and I have nothing clever to say about it.**

_What you missed on last week's episode..._

Dean glanced over at the doorway, just able to make out his brother's overly tall silhouette against the doorframe. "Yeah," he responded gruffly, draining the last of his beer. "Bobby find anything?"

"Sort of," Sam answered, stepping back to let Dean pass.

"What does 'sort of' mean?" he scoffed, plopping down in his customary seat near Bobby's desk.

"Means I got a phone call a few minutes ago," Bobby stated, "from a contact in D.C."

"Fed country?" the older brother retorted bitterly. "No thanks."

"May not be an option to say no."

* * *

><p><em>~"Once I rose above the noise and confusion..."~<em>

* * *

><p>"Who is bein' sacrificed?" Dean dared, sitting forward.<p>

"From what I can tell...the sacrifices are limited to warriors."

"Warriors." The older Winchester sat forward. "Like..."

"Military," Sam finished quietly.

* * *

><p><em>~"Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion..."~<em>

* * *

><p>"There is...a team, a very capable team, that will assist you. They will be waiting for you in Washington."<p>

"A team of what?" Dean demanded. "Hunters?"

"Naval Criminal Investigators."

* * *

><p><em>~"I was soaring ever higher..."~<em>

* * *

><p>Gibbs paused, looking down at McGee, who seemed to be staring at nothing. "McGee?" he asked.<p>

"He's been kinda out of it, boss."

Gibbs grunted, receiving no reply from the young agent. "McGee!" he repeated a bit louder, kneeling beside him. He pressed his fingertips to McGee's neck, feeling the feeble pulse. "Hey, DiNozzo, help me get him up and movin'."

* * *

><p><em>~"But I flew too high..."~<em>

* * *

><p>"Special Agent Timothy McGee."<p>

Shock propelled him upward as he heard the deep, unfamiliar voice echo throughout his room. Instinctively, he reached to his side for his weapon, finding only a handful of hospital gown to greet him. Confused, he looked around, his eyes coming to rest on a dark-haired man standing by the window. The man appeared to be wearing a suit and trench coat, another agent, he guessed, maybe posted by his boss to keep watch.

"Did Gibbs send you?" he asked, a slight wheeze behind his words. "Who are you?"

"My name is Castiel, and I am an angel of the Lord."

McGee swallowed awkwardly. "An...an angel? Am I dying?"

"Yes," he answered simply.

…

"You have cancer," came the emotionless response, "leukemia. The bruising you have been ignoring, the fatigue, the weakness...The cancer is far progressed. I am sorry."

"Your job, however, is not finished here, Timothy. Heaven has need of you and your team. I need you to deliver a message to your boss, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

"What...what message?" he managed, trying to still his racing heart.

"Two men will be arriving here tomorrow," the angel stated carefully, "they are called hunters. Your team is to provide them shelter and protect them at all cost. When they have arrived, I will return. You will learn then what is to be done."

* * *

><p><em>~"Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man..."~<em>

* * *

><p>Exchanging a heavy look with his younger brother, he jerked his head toward the door, and they fell in step together, moving up the small walkway. It was Sam, however, who raised his hand to knock, leaving them waiting for what seemed like an eternity until an older man pulled the door open, greeting them with a calculating stare.<p>

"Uh, I'm Sam, and this is Dean," Sam greeted, coughing to clear his throat. "I...believe you're expecting us."

It took a moment for the graying man to step aside, letting them into the house. They drew up short as they found another man and woman standing just inside, each with a gun trained on them. The man who'd let them in easily found Dean's gun, taking and unloading it before sitting it aside.

"Well, this is just peachy," Dean mumbled under his breath. "So much for Cas 'preparing the way.'"

* * *

><p><em>~"Though my mind could think I still was a mad man..."~<em>

* * *

><p>"Do all angels wear trench coats?" DiNozzo quipped, his lopsided grin easily visible behind the gun he had leveled at Castiel's head.<p>

"He doesn't quite grasp the concept of 'humor,'" Sam spoke up before Castiel could respond.

* * *

><p><em>~"I hear the voices when I'm dreaming..."~<em>

* * *

><p>"Okay, so we're definitely on the right track with the shelter. It's at least where the sacrifices are being performed. With the amount of blood pooling at the door, it's a pretty safe bet there was at least one body hidden there." Dean brought his father's journal closer to him, staring absently down at the pages as his mind continued to work. "What we need is a way to get inside."<p>

"With the locked gates and those butch looking women walkin' around outside, that's gonna be a trick," DiNozzo added, crossing his arms and kicking back in his chair.

"It will not be that hard," Ziva retorted. "We are government agents, are we not? I am a woman, yes? I will go in undercover."

"Whoa," Sam stated firmly, sitting forward. He shook his head. "Ziva, this isn't something the agency is aware you all are doing. There's no insurance if something goes wrong."

"People are dying, and this is the way to put an end to it. Dean and Tony were fortunate enough to get inside and return one time with no fight. Would it not be easier if it were a helpless woman seeking shelter, as the shelter is intended for? It would not raise as much suspicion."

"She's right, Sammy."

* * *

><p><em>~"I can hear them say..."~<em>

* * *

><p>"Please tell me that the angels have nothing to do with this cancer thing," Dean said quietly, studying Castiel's face. "I thought we'd got past all that 'special influence' crap."<p>

The angel sighed, looking away briefly toward the house. "It was not...given to him by us, Dean, but we are using it."

"Using it?" he repeated dangerously, taking a step closer to the angel.

"McGee is a vessel. A particularly powerful vessel. Much like you were with Michael."

Dean put up a hand to stop him, the look on his face particularly volatile. "Wait a second." He paused, his eyes narrowed. "One of your angel buddies is just gonna...swoop down and take a body off the death bed? You know who does that, Cas? Huh? Dicks!"

* * *

><p><em>~"Carry on my wayward son..."~<em>

* * *

><p>"Something's wrong out there, Abby." McGee sighed in frustration, placing a slightly shaking hand over hers. "I need to be with the team. What's going on?"<p>

"They've got everything under control, Timmy." She adjusted her hold on him, nuzzling against his neck. "You just need to focus on getting better."

"I can't!" He frowned. "Damn it, I can't sit in here knowing that the team is working without me."

…

"I've seen that before," McGee mumbled, more to himself, as he studied the image of the pendant they all seemed so interested in.

"What?" Sam asked, looking over at him.

"In a dream, a few weeks ago." He narrowed his eyes, looking at it closer. "I was taking a break from working on the Deep Six books...had a dream about a woman wearing a necklace exactly like this." He gestured toward Sam's computer, pulling up a fresh browser and typing as he spoke. "Gave me an idea for a new book, so I did some research..." He gave the computer back to the younger brother, settling back in his chair as he tried to find a more comfortable position.

"Valkyrie?" Sam breathed.

* * *

><p><em>~"There'll be peace when you are done..."~<em>

* * *

><p>"Odin cannot be allowed to rise. At any cost, the ritual must be halted." Cas stared at the wooden boards thoughtfully. "Once the ritual is halted, we must ensure that they cannot try again."<p>

"How do we do that?" Sam asked quietly.

Castiel met Sam's eyes, his gaze fixed and intense. "We must destroy Valhalla."

* * *

><p><em>~"Lay your weary head to rest..."~<em>

* * *

><p>Leslie jerked her head around, hearing the voice sound to her right. Her eyes widened as she found herself face to face with Zerachiel. Ziva brought an elbow hard against her captor's midsection, loosening her grip enough to slip away, retrieving her gun and backing a few steps away, Leslie in her cross hairs.<p>

"You don't want to do this." She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, only casting a brief glance at Ziva, almost in dismissal.

"Oh, yes, we do," Castiel sounded, suddenly behind her. "It's over."

"It's only just beginning." She smiled again, a sinister smile that darkened her eyes, her muscles tensing as she prepared for the impending fight. "There are more of us than there are of you."

…

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs' belllow echoed loudly and he pushed at the mass crushing in on them, fighting to get to his senior field agent. A strength that he'd never felt before flared to life in him as he saw Tony barely deflect another attack, knowing that the man had signed his death warrant. "No!"

…

Despite being hidden among her sisters, Dean's aim was true, and the bullet struck Leslie between the eyes, dropping her instantly.

"Shield your eyes!" Castiel cried out, Zerachiel mirroring his movements as he stretched his arms wide, holy light bursting forth from his body to engulf the room.

…

He scrambled out of the car as the Impala slowed, swerved, and buried itself into the bushes, the momentum thankfully slow enough to stop them. Ducky sprang from the truck, ordering Abby to get help as he ran to the car, pulling the door open, reaching across an unconscious Sam to put the car in park and cut the engine as he checked for a pulse.

Gibbs' limp form in the backseat caught his eye, a pale blue tinting his lips. He had started pulling his old friend from the car to begin CPR when the orderlies came rushing out with gurneys, followed closely by nurses. Abby was close behind them, stopping short as she saw Ducky hovering over a very-still Gibbs.

"Stand aside, sir," one of the nurses ordered, pulling at Ducky.

At a loss, the doctor stumbled back, watching numbly as the bodies were removed from the vehicles and loaded onto beds, nurses straddling Tony and Gibbs, beginning chest compressions as the orderlies rushed the gurneys inside, toward the Emergency Room. He jumped, startled, as he felt Abby's hand close over his, shocking him back to the present.

"Ducky," she whispered hoarsely, her burning question evident without having to speak it. Was Gibbs alive?

He met her eyes, his own filling with tears. "I certainly hope so, Abigail." He pulled her close and there, at the entrance of the hospital, they cried, clinging to one another as if their lives depended on it.

…

"Yes." Castiel's voice held no levity and no reassurance. He faced Zerachiel with cold, calculating eyes, his fist closing around the horn. "It's all about the souls."

* * *

><p><em>~"Don't you cry no more."~<em>

* * *

><p><em><strong>SUPERNATURALNCIS**_

* * *

><p><em>Lyrics - "Carry on my Wayward Son" ~Kansas<em>


	2. Chapter 2

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, renowned for his toughness and determination, sat silently in the hospital room, in the midst of his team, his eyes adverted away from the still form laying on the bed. Abigail Sciuto sat in the chair beside him, her black hair messily pulled back into low pigtails, eyeliner and mascara smeared under her eyes, tears glistening over the large orbs. Her lower lip quivered and she clutched her fists in the hem of her skirt. Dr. Donald Mallard, the medical examiner, sat in the corner, his head bowed, almost as if he were praying. Agent Ziva David stood near the window with her back pressed firmly to the wall, staring out at the bleak landscape around the hospital, looking anywhere but to the bed. The pain between the team members was palpable.

Sam and Dean Winchester had taken their own seats in the far corner, keeping just as anxious of a vigil on the too-still form of Agent Anthony DiNozzo, listening to the heart monitor keep time to his slow heartbeat and the ventilator hiss softly as it filled his lungs with life-giving air.

It had been two days since they'd fought the Valkyries. Those who had seen combat sported heavy bandages and were still hospital bound, but had been allowed to situate in Tony's room. There had been no signs of the angels, even when Dean prayed for Castiel. Tony hadn't woken yet and his condition still wasn't completely stable. It had them all waiting on pins and needles. It seemed more like a death watch.

The silence passed into evening before Gibbs stood, affixing a blank mask to his face. He was weak and sore, but he refused to show how badly it was affecting him. Besides a slight hitch in his gait and the pale hue to his face, he passed for a normal version of himself to those who didn't know him very well. He made his way to the door and down the hallway, leaving them alone.

Abby immediately turned to the brothers, as if she'd been waiting for the moment that Gibbs walked out of the room. A tear escaped down her cheek. "What now?" Her voice quavered, the sudden sound rousing Ducky from his seat. "You all almost...d-died...and Timmy...Timmy's not back yet." Another tear slid over her ivory cheek, drawing more black mess from her smudged eye make-up.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not wanting to voice the doubts that were on his mind. Had Castiel been captured? Killed? Were they to be left here alone, not knowing how to proceed, not knowing if Tony would pull through? "I..." he paused, trying desperately to look at anything but her. He licked his lips nervously. "Look, I don't know, okay? I knew there'd be a fight at the end of this thing. There always is. I just didn't know...how...bad it would be."

"What about Castiel? Where is he? What else is he gonna want from us...before we get Timmy back?" Her words came out in a helpless rush, accompanied by more tears.

"We...I...dunno about that either." He met her eyes then, betraying the confidence he was attempting to show. "I mean, Cas is always...always there. He's never not shown up like this before. To tell ya the truth, it's kinda got me spooked."

"What do we do?"

"We wait, Abby," Ziva said quietly, turning her attention back to the room.

"How can you say that when Tony is laying here...like this...and McGee is gone? How can we wait?" she burst.

"We knew this was dangerous, Abby. McGee made his decision." She crossed her arms over her chest. "It does not make it less painful, but it had to be done. All of it. Do not give up on Tony. He is very strong." She offered a small smile to her friend, pressing herself away from the wall. "The rest of us made it, did we not? He will too." With that, she excused herself, limping quietly from the room.

Sam watched her go, watching her disappear from view before he stood, jogging after her. She stopped at the end of the hallway, waiting by the window for him to move up beside her. From the corner of her eye, she could see he jaw work as he struggled with what he wanted to say.

"How is it that you can move so quickly after such a fight?" she asked, turning to face him.

"Hurts like hell," he admitted, "but comes with the job, ya know. Spend more time hurt than not." He looked over at her, catching her dark eyes with his own. "It's not fair that you...all of you...got dragged into this. We should have protected you. That's our job. We shouldn't have agreed to drag you guys into this."

"This would have been our fate either way, Sam." She reached out, taking his hand in her own. "We cannot give up hope that things will return to how they were. I have given too much for things to end this way." A haunted look passed over her face, escaping from the mask of strength she wore.

"I promise you...I will do _everything_ in my power to make things right."

She smiled then, a beautiful smile that made him catch his breath. "Sam." Her free hand moved to cup his cheek. "I know you will."

He blushed, moving his hand to rest over hers, his eyes brightening. "Zi..."

"It seems you will be here for a while, Sam Winchester," she murmured, silencing him. "I suggest we make the most of it." Slowly, she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his for a tender kiss.

He inhaled sharply, a very familiar, but very foreign sensation overtaking him.

_He was pressing her against the wall, his hands tight about her waist, her nails dragging down his back._

Sam blinked, looking down at the woman he'd enfolded in his arms.

_He was kissing down her neck, biting occasionally to hear her gasp, allowing her to undress him as he pushed her slowly back toward the bed._

Her hands came to rest against his chest, gathering hand fulls of his shirt, holding to him as if afraid he'd disappear.

_He was looking down over her, his eyes meeting hers as she arched her hips against him, taking his throbbing length inside of her._

She pulled away slowly, opening desire-fevered eyes under slightly fluttering lashes to gaze up at him. The intensity she found waiting there drew a deep blush to her cheeks as well.

He shook his head slightly, reminding himself to breathe.

"What is the matter?" she asked, smoothing the wrinkles from where she'd gripped his shirt. "Was it too much?"

He offered her a half-smile, "no, Ziva. That was...unbelievable." He took her hands. "We should get back, though...in case...in case he wakes up."

Nodding slightly, she reluctantly tore herself away from him and moved back down the hallway, not bothering to look behind her as she slid back into the room. Winded, he sank back against the wall, his eyes closing against the dizziness that had been threatening to overtake him. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

"Hey," Dean's gruff voice cut through the haze, "Sammy? What's goin' on? You alright?"

"Dunno, Dean," he replied, making an attempt to compose himself.

"What do you mean...you don't know? Do I need to call a nurse?" He reached out, placing his hand against his brother's shoulder to steady him.

Sam stumbled.

_Castiel was kneeling beside a still form, his hand resting on what must have been the shoulder. The landscape was foreign to him, the air tinged in red._

He felt strong arms close around him, holding him up. A muffled voice seemed to be trying to get his attention; it must have been Dean, he concluded.

_Cas shook his head, standing and turning away from the body, disappearing with a bright light. The figure on the ground was Dean._

"Sammy. _Sammy!_ C'mon, gigantor." Dean breathed a sigh of relief when Sam found his strength again, steadying his legs under him. "What was that all about?" He waved away the nurses that had taken notice to Sam's display.

Taking deep, gulping breaths, he sank into a chair that seemed to have materialized near them, a slightly panicked look crossing his face. "Dean." His voice broke, forcing him into silence again.

"What?" He tried to keep his voice low to keep from bringing more attention to them.

"Visions," he mouthed, "they're back."

There was a long silence between them before the elder cleared his throat. "So, what exactly does that mean? Yellow Eyes..."

"I...I don't know, Dean."

"What set it off?"

"Ziva..." he managed, glancing back toward the room. "There's somethin' about her, Dean." He found his feet again, sighing. Castiel would know. The angel would have the answers.

**000086753090000**

The machines hooked to Tony began to pick up pace in their beeping, drawing the attention of those gathered to the heart monitor. The air coming from the ventilator was obstructed as the agent tried to take a breath of his own accord around the tube in this throat. Gibbs was the first one to the bed, calming his senior field agent as Ducky went running for assistance.

"Easy there, Tony," Gibbs murmured, leaning close so Tony could fixate on his face. "The doc is on his way to take this thing out." He offered his agent a rare smile. "Good to see ya awake, DiNozzo."

Weakly, Tony flashed his boss a thumbs up before relaxing back into the mattress, waiting for the promised help. The air in the room seemed to change drastically, hope refilling those gathered for the first time since they'd fled the shelter. They'd made it through.

They were going to be okay.

**tbc...**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: IT'S SO FLUFFEH! Thanks for all the reviews and adds. :) You guys rock. I hope you enjoy...**

A week had passed since Tony had woken and they were all released from the hospital. The return to Gibbs' house was driven in silence, and they had filed into the living room, falling heavily into every free seat in the small room. They still moved gingerly, having to deal with the healing and stitched wounds they had carved in their skin. Tony's left arm was in a sling, supporting the weakened limb. They were quiet, each simply sharing a moment to be thankful to be alive.

"What now?" the senior field agent asked, his voice still slightly hoarse from his aggravated throat. "'Cause unless your little...angel friend decides to come light on my shoulder, I don't think I have that much more to give."

"I...We...We're not willin' to put ya'll in that situation again," Dean said resolutely, Sam echoing his sentiments with an agreeing nod. "You've done enough."

"This is not yet over, is it?" Ziva questioned softly, her eyes locking on the mossy green of Sam's. She read the answer there. No. "If it is not over, then we are not finished. We are still down a team member, and you two are part of that team now. I, for one, will not sit back and let you risk your legs without backup!"

Tony bit back a short laugh. "Necks, Ziva. Not legs."

She shrugged off the correction. "Whatever comes next, I am in."

"She's right," Gibbs consented, sitting forward, his hands clasped in front of him. "We're not finishin' this without McGee. Hoorah."

"Hoorah," the older Winchester echoed, hearing his father echo through that simple word.

Abby sighed, pulling herself to her feet, "I suppose the next step should be food...well, something other than hospital food, that is. You guys, stay put." She bustled from the room, disappearing into the kitchen.

Tony smiled, the thought of home-cooked food making his mouth water. He'd had enough of hospital food to last him a life time. In much better spirits at the prospect of dinner, he settled back against the couch. "So, what's the odds of getting in touch with your angel friend?"

"Dunno," Sam offered. "We're never had to wait for him like this."

Dean frowned deeply, "Might have to start thinkin' somethin' along the lines of...somethin' might've happened to him. No clue on how to continue. Dunno even if what we _have_ to do is possible."

"Destroy Valhalla." The senior agent confirmed, his tone distant, wandering.

Sam scratched absently at his cheek, "suppose we could call Bobby."

Dean grunted, shaking his head, "no need, Sammy. He was pissed enough I didn't call after the shelter. He'll be here any time now."

Sam took comfort in that. Having Bobby there would boost morale.

"For now, rest, recover...That's all we can do." The older Winchester attempted to exude a confidence he no longer felt. Where was Castiel?

A general murmur of agreement passed around the room, more symbolic than actual agreement. Everyone knew there was nothing that could be done other than waiting. Energies were best spent doing what they could, and that was recovering from the injuries that they had all sustained.

Abby called them all to the table an hour later, the savory smells of a homemade pasta sauce greeting them as they filed into the small kitchen. They took their customary seats at the table, smiling their thanks as a busy Abby passed out plates and served them. Garlic bread was soon produced from the oven and they dug in, mouths too full to carry on conversation. The brothers were grateful for that, not sure if they could answer any more questions they didn't have the answers to.

Ziva helped Abby clean up while Gibbs, Tony, and Dean retired to the living room, working on Gibbs' old television set to pick up whatever was on the local channels. Sam took the opportunity to slip away, taking refuge on the deck. It was dark outside and quiet, a welcome change after everything they'd been through.

He sat down on the step, propping his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. The pressure of the heels of his palms against his eyes was soothing. Scenes of broken visions had filled his mind all day, wearing at his energy and leaving his head pounding. He would have ordinarily tried to justify it as nerves, but with his track record, the possibility that what he was seeing was plausible made him cautious. He tried to force himself to memorize everything, trying to piece together a story that came together in mismatched segments.

Thankfully, out in the quiet, the images tickling his imagination seemed to subside, leaving him alone in the dark. Relaxing, he leaned against the railing, letting his head roll about his shoulders, shifting the tension he held in his back.

"Cas," he sighed, looking up at the stars, his eyes slightly squinted as if searching for answers, "wherever you are, whatever you're doing...we're kinda worried down here. Just...let us know you're okay, man. We need you down here."

More silence greeted him.

He exhaled heavily. "Damn."

The door creaked behind him as it pushed open and slowly snapped closed, soft footsteps sounding behind him. He knew who it was without looking up, and automatically fixed a small, agreeable smile to his face.

"Do you mind if I keep you company?" Ziva asked quietly, waiting for him to motion to the step beside him for her to sit. Gently, she lowered herself onto the make-shift seat, her shoulder coming to rest only an inch away from his. She gazed out over the yard, her arms wrapped about her midsection to guard against the slight chill in the air.

"How are you feeling?" He looked over at her, his eyes sweeping over her slightly pale face.

She smiled, "I am better than I expected to be." She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly through her nose. "I thought you were avoiding me. I have a tendency to be...too aggressive."

A small laugh fell from his lips before he could choke it back. He coughed awkwardly. "No, no. Ziva. God, no." He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "It's nice...Ya know, this line of business isn't exactly great for...ya know..." He gestured in front of him, hoping she'd read into the motion.

"So, you do not have sex much."

The bluntness of her statement made him choke again, but he laughed it off, hanging his head slightly. "We hold our own, I guess, but yeah. We don't have a lot of time...for...relationships."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "It sounds like a very lonely life you lead, Sam."

He couldn't disagree with her. Sure, there were other hunters that they occasionally ran across, but there was nothing permanent. He hadn't really thought about anything permanent since Jessica.

"I never really wanted it to be like this." A moment passed as he collected himself, those faded memories of hurt surging to the surface. Now it was simply a throbbing pain that settled deep in his bones. It was always there, just easily pushed aside as part of the job. "Now, it is what is has to be. There's no out for us. No way out except death." If they could just _stay_ dead. The greater beings out there seemed to always have a different plan for them.

"Sam?" Her voice seemed distant and he blinked, drawing himself back to the present. "What is wrong?"

He felt her hand come to rest over his, an anchor holding him mentally in place. "You don't wanna get involved with me, Ziva." He brushed a loose strand of her dark hair back from her face, forcing himself to meet those beautiful, exotic eyes.

"Why?"

He sighed, drawing his thumb slowly along her jawline. It was such a simple question with such a complex answer. His jaw worked. It had been such a long time since he'd been drawn to someone else, and he couldn't deny that he wanted to be with her. Now. He needed that contact, that comfort. "I don't wanna drag you down with us. Me and Dean...we're just...waiting, ya know. Sooner or later, something we hunt is gonna get us first, and if it's not something we hunt, it's gonna be the stress of the job." His voice was faint, haunted.

"Sam..."

"What happened to Tim...that's tame compared to what we're destined for." He smiled sadly, dropping his hand back to his lap. "You don't deserve that."

Her brow had furrowed as she'd listen to him talk. She'd heard excuses before. She'd even given excuses. "Sam," she caught his eyes again, retaking his hands in her own, "I am not talking about forever. Most of my partners have been agents, men who are constantly in the line of fire. I do not expect a lifetime commitment." A mischievous gleam lit her face and he leaned forward, her lips coming to rest near his ear. "What is wrong with two people...giving in to a mutual attraction? No. strings. attached."

He shivered.

"I told you before, Sam...I see you. You cannot hide from me." Her hands tightened over his.

His head spun and he closed his eyes against the rush, resting his forehead against hers. It was an intimate gesture, bringing them close together in that moment. The stress he'd been holding in his back seemed to melt away. "Thanks." He didn't know what else to say.

"What happened at the hospital?" she pressed.

There was no doubt on what she was asking about. She had most likely felt, and seen, the shakes that came from reacting to a vision. There was no way he could have played it off. He shook his head, settling in for a long night.

**000086753090000**

It was late before Sam stumbled into his appointed room, noticing his brother had already stretched across the bed, over the covers. Neither had said anything, but sleeping under the covers had been a struggle after feeling the press of bodies in the shelter. Carefully, Sam stepped out of his pants, tossing them over the chair in the corner to join his Dean's. He found his place on the bed, just enough room between him and his brother to be comfortable.

The rhythm of Dean's steady breathing changed as Sam laid down, and the older Winchester stirred, rousing from his light sleep.

"E'rythin' a'right, Sammy?" Dean yawned, checking his watch. It was one in the morning.

"Yeah, just...talkin' to Ziva." In all fact, he'd never felt so emotionally reamed. Ziva had delved into depths of his memory that he'd long suppressed. It had left him feeling vulnerable and exposed, but he'd found it surprisingly easy to open up to her. Already, it was beginning to feel cathartic.

"With a smile like that, looks like more than talkin'." A little more awake, the older brother's sarcastic humor was rearing its prominent head.

Sam hadn't been aware he was smiling. "Dude." He relaxed against the mattress. "Tonight was...just talkin'. That's all."

"Well," Dean smiled smugly, "good for you, Sammy." A sudden twinge caught in his brow and he sat up, looking over at his brother. "Seriously though, with your track record...take the holy water...just to see..."

With an annoyed snort, Sam rolled to his side, casting a dirty glance at his brother. "Any word from Bobby?" he asked instead.

"Yeah." Taking his dismissal, Dean fell back against the bed, closing his eyes. "He'll be here in the morning."

Silence fell over the room as they made themselves comfortable.

"Sammy," Dean finally spoke, tucking his arm under his head, gazing up at the ceiling, "I'm serious about the holy water."

Sam rolled his eyes, "jerk."

A smile tugged at the corner of Dean's mouth. "Bitch." He exhaled lightly. "G'night, Sammy."

**tbc...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks so much, guys. :) Enjoy!**

Bobby slammed the trunk of his car closed, hoisting his bags and supplies on his shoulder, casting the lightly-laden Dean a dirty look. He still hadn't forgiven the older Winchester for failing to call as soon as he'd been able. He stalked his way up the small walk way to the porch, nodding to Sam as he grabbed the door for them, letting them inside.

The books that he'd brought found a resting place in an uneven stack by the couch, and his bags were placed in the basement where a make-shift room had been created for him. A cot sat a few paces away from Gibbs' unfinished boat, which they'd been told was number four or five. No one had been sure.

"Not exactly the Hilton," Gibbs said, by way of unspoken apology.

"This is great," Bobby dismissed, "believe me, slept in worse. Not very often I actually make it to my bed, not with these boys out doin' what they're doin'." He stretched, trying to relieve the stiffness in his back from the long ride. "Gettin' too old for this."

Gibbs chuckled, a rare smile lighting his face. "I hear ya there." He gestured over to his bench, intent on getting to know a bit about the man behind the voice before returning to the group upstairs. It was still early. He tossed a few odd screws and bolts out of two of the mason jars that sat on the bench, running his fingers inside to dislodge any remaining dirt from the bottom. "I know it's early, but..." He poured a generous amount, corking the bottle before passing one to his companion.

Bobby raised the glass, tipping his head to his host. "Never too early." He took an appreciative sip, enjoying the burn as it snaked its way down his throat. "Now." He sat the jar back on the bench, a little heavier than he intended. "You're probably the best person to ask, Gibbs. What the hell is goin' on? What _happened?_"

The agent sighed, taking a long drink from his own jar. "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't been there." He found his mind flashing back to the night, the mayhem, in the shelter. "We were outnumbered. They just kept coming. If Dean hadn't got off that shot, we'd all be dead." He resolved himself to relating the story, fielding Bobby's questions as well as he could. He wasn't too sure about the supernatural aspects of what they'd faced, and found himself stumbling when the other man posed a question he couldn't answer.

"What's next?" the hunter asked.

Gibbs sat down heavily on the stool at the bench. "Well, you know as much as we do. Your angel friends haven't shown back up yet."

"Hmm." He drained his glass, trying not to show the troubled scowl that threatened to march across his face. The last thing that needed to happen was raising unnecessary concerns that could tear the group apart, but he couldn't help but feel a nagging in the back of his mind. Castiel had raised his suspicions for a while now, suspicions that he shared with Sam though Dean would hear nothing of it. He hated thinking bad about the one angel that had stood by their side, but something was definitely going on that he wasn't filling them in on.

"How long have you been in this business?" Gibbs refilled their jars.

A humorless chuckle sounded from the grizzled hunter as he nursed his glass, gazing down into the dark liquid. "Too damned long. Seen more than my fair share. Never a dull moment as far as the boys are concerned." He'd lost track of the number of times he'd put his life in danger, just for the Winchesters. "Not many of us old ones left."

"Hear that." Gibbs nodded. Agents like Gibbs, and even his old team leader, Mike Franks, weren't as long lived as their counterparts. The senior agent had been injured more times than he cared to count, and had defied death more than his due share.

Bobby raised his bourbon, a hard half-smile turning the corner of his mouth, recognizing Gibbs as a kindred soul. "There ain't many of us old souls left, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs returned the gesture, taking a drink alongside Bobby. "No," he replied quietly, "there really isn't."

**000086753090000**

Sam and Dean followed Bobby out to the deck, leaving the NCIS team lounging in the living room. The three hunters grouped on the deck, grateful for the moment to escape from the assumed confidence they'd been attempting to keep up for the sake of the team.

"Glad you're here, Bobby," Sam began, his hands coming to rest on his hips.

"How long's it been since you boys heard from Cas?" he asked, keeping his voice low in case it carried back inside.

"Since the shelter," Dean confessed. "I'm worried, Bobby. What if he's hurt? Or worse, huh? What if Cas is dead?"

"Where do ya think we go from here?" Sam added.

The older hunter sighed, chewing on his bottom lip. "I don't think there's a chance of destroying Valhalla without Cas."

The boys nodded in agreement.

"If he doesn't show up...I'd say we should probably just...go home." He took off his hat, absently scratching his head. "I mean, somethin' else'll show up sooner or later. Dunno what to tell ya about Cas, though. Dunno what to think."

"Maybe...we should go back to the shelter," Sam suggested, breaking the momentary silence that had fallen over them.

"I don't think..."

"Good idea, Sammy," Dean interjected, cutting Bobby's objection short. They had to see if Castiel had actually made it out of the building. It would give them a starting point.

"You're not goin' alone." The veteran hunter stepped toward the older brother, almost as if in challenge.

Dean stepped by him, reaching for the door. "Well, let's go then."

They stepped back into the house, filing past to their respective rooms to organize their gear. It was time to get some answers, and this was the only way to start.

**tbc...**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Apologies for the long delay. I've been a busy little bee and have had zero time to work on any kind of writing. Anyway, I hope this was worth waiting for.**

Getting out of the house without any of the agents insisting on following proved difficult, but the three hunters were finally alone, riding silently in the Impala on their way back to the shelter. Sam and Dean were tense, unsure of what to expect when they arrived. They couldn't help but wonder if reinforcements had arrived while they were away. No one was ready for another battle, not this soon. If the spell hadn't been broken when it had been, they would have been facing certain death. Dean's knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel; he feared the worst when it came to Castiel. The angel would have tried, surely, to get to them if he'd been alive. He always did. Always.

Sam and Bobby left Dean to his thoughts, understanding where they had automatically drifted to. Theirs weren't far behind. Their hands never strayed far from their weapons, ready for a fight before they got to their destination, mentally preparing themselves for the worst. At the least, they'd be walking into a festering blood bath, had no one else found the scene first.

The Impala swung against the curb and Dean cut the engine, pocketing the keys before exiting the car with the other two men in the car. He checked the Colt, swinging the loaded chamber shut before heading off quietly toward the building. Sam broke away, trying to get a glimpse of the inside through the frosted windows. He met his brother's eyes.

"Can't tell, Dean," he mouthed, shrugging slightly. He slid his own gun into his hand. It was quiet, that much he could tell.

Bobby cocked the sawed-off behind them, nodding to Dean. Taking his cue, Dean tried the door, finding it unlocked. He pushed the door open, his nose turning up at the smell of rancid blood that rushed through the newly opened doorway. The three men filed inside, weapons raised, checking the entry and open room just inside the front door. All seemed clear, aside from the rotting bodies on the floor.

"Bloodbath," Bobby murmured, his eyes taking in the dark red that stained most of the floors and a good portion of the wall. He poked his head inside the office, making sure no one was hiding inside.

Dean and Sam continued into the bigger room, trying to find the last place they'd seen the angel, glancing over the overlapping bodies to make sure Castiel wasn't buried underneath. Sam toed some of the bodies, nudging arms and legs aside to check the floor.

"Anything?" Bobby asked, stepping out of the office.

"Nothin' out here," Dean answered, glancing back toward the hallway. He gestured to Sam and they moved together to the back of the room, taking care to make sure they avoided as much blood as they could. The smell was overpowering, and they had to fight to keep ther stomachs in line.

The three men swept the shelter from back to front, breaking into the closed rooms. They found several bodies belonging to the sacrificed military men behind the locked doors, twisted in grotesque positions with their mouths agape, their eyes wide as if screaming and begging for help. In respect, they closed the doors behind them, giving them the privacy that they could before they informed the agents they'd left where the bodies could be found.

They stepped outside, closing the door on the carnage inside and walking slowly back to the car, gathering at the trunk and putting the weapons away.

"So, we know that Zerachiel and Cas made it out," Sam offered after a long, uncomfortable silence. "They've gotta be alive."

"How do we find 'em?" Dean countered. "It's not like we can just waltz back into Heaven...not after last time."

"Is there a spell..."

"Not that I know of, son," Bobby interjected, cutting Sam off.

"Well, we could try summoning them." The younger Winchester crossed his arms, his eyes settling on a loose piece of gravel nestled against the curb.

"If they're hurt, they might not be able to get to us," Dean sighed, leaning back against the trunk. He rubbed his hand against his cheek, shaking his head.

"Balthazar."

Dean looked up at his brother, a look of distaste plain on his face. "No, Sammy."

"There's no one else, Dean."

Grumbling, he climbed into the car, waiting for the others to join him before he fired the engine to life, pulling into the street to head back toward Gibbs' house. At the very least, they'd need to report on what they'd found. The shelter needed to be cleared. Those men needed to be put to rest, their families notified, their memories honored.

The ride was silent, uncomfortable and brooding. The ring of the cellphone was almost welcome as it startled them from their reverie, sending Sam searching his jacket pocket for the phone.

"Hello?" He listened for a moment, a frown creasing his brow. "Ziva, slow down. What?" He paused. "We'll be right there. No, no. We're just around the corner."

Dean glanced over as Sam slid the phone back in his pocket. "Well?"

"Cas just showed up." He seemed to will the car faster as he looked out the windshield, his hands grasping handfuls of his jeans.

"And?"

"And...you should go faster, Dean."

**000086753090000**

The hunters made their way as quickly as they could into the living room, their eyes immediately finding Castiel stretched out across the length of the couch. His vessel was pale, the eyes sunken and framed by dark circles, the clothes stained dark with long-dried blood. Ducky, it appeared, had already checked for open wounds, and was now standing back beside Gibbs, carrying on a hushed conversation. Ziva, Tony, and Abby stood next to the window, staring at the still form on the couch.

The Israeli detached herself from the group, moving to Sam as Dean went immediately to the couch, attempting to rouse the angel. She pulled him back to the kitchen, trying to still the slight shake to her hands.

"You alright?" the younger Winchester asked, taking her hand in his own.

"I am...fine," she replied, blinking as if to clear her eyes. "McGee is...I mean, Zerachiel is not with him." A heaviness settled over her as her thoughts turned dark.

"Ziva," he said gently, lifting her chin with a gentle caress, "don't give up yet."

Slowly, she nodded, a sigh dropping from her lips.

"Now tell me...what happened?"

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself. "He appeared in the corner of the room, stumbled to the center of the room, and collapsed. Ducky and Gibbs got him onto the couch. He has not moved since."

He nodded.

"Sam,...if Castiel is like this...is there a chance for McGee?" The question dropped from her lips as if it were poison.

It was a long moment before he answered, considering his answer carefully. "I think we should wait until we talk to Cas before we start making assumptions." He gently tucked a loose strand of dark hair back behind her ear, drawing a tender caress across her cheek. "Anything coulda done this. We won't know anything for sure until we talk to him."

"Will he be alright?"

With Cas and his current situation, they'd dealt with him hurt more often than they'd like. It seemed the angel had nine lives. "We'll know for sure when he wakes up."

Frustrated, but knowing she could hope for nothing more, she nodded, turning reluctantly away from Sam as they moved back to the crowded living room. Dean was kneeling beside Castiel, the angel surprisingly awake, talking quietly. The Winchester's face was pale and drawn, lines of concentration drawn around his eyes. The effect was aging, and for a moment, Sam could have sworn he saw more of their father in his brother's face than he did his own sibling.

It was a long while before Dean moved away from the sofa, letting Castiel lapse back into a deep sleep. Bobby had moved over to report to Gibbs what they'd found at the shelter, and the team leader seemed intent to absorb every detail he could from the older hunter. Gibbs motioned to Tony and the two men left the house, heading back to NCIS to mobilize a team to secure the shelter.

"I do not envy them," Ziva murmured thoughtfully, catching the brothers' attention. "They will have to deal with Director Vance. I am sure he is anxious to know why all the paperwork from the hospital is sitting on his desk. He will not be happy about the slaughter at the shelter either."

"Will this...director...play nice?" Dean queried, shrugging his jacket from his shoulders and tossing it onto the back of a kitchen chair.

"No." A small frown turned down the corners of her lips. "Director Vance...is a difficult man. I do not think we will be able to convince him to stand down any longer."

The older Winchester cursed under his breath.

"Hopefully, the carnage will be enough to keep him preoccupied until you finish your mission."

"And if it isn't enough?"

A small shrug lifted her right shoulder and she turned her attention back to the sleeping form on the couch. Sam exchanged a heavy glance with his brother. That was all they needed right now. More trouble. And the trouble would inevitably come.

**tbc...**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter :) Thank you for the wonderful reviews, as always. You guys rock.**

"Well?" Sam closed the bedroom door behind him, turning to the chair as he worked on removing his shoes.

Dean sighed, throwing his jacket toward the dresser and sliding his shoes off by the window. "Cas'll make it." He stretched, attempting to relieve the stress that had stiffened his back.

"What'd he say?" Sam stepped out of his pants, tossing them aside before stepping forward, stretching out across the bed, unable to suppress the grateful groan that escaped from his lips. Every inch of his body seemed to hurt.

"He and Zerachiel made it out of the shelter, but they've been runnin'. It took a week for the angels to lose their trail. Bobby's lookin' for a spell to take the house off the radar. Zera will be here later, at least that's what he says." He pulled their father's journal from the bedside table, perching on the edge of the bed. "He's not heard from him in several days."

"That's not..."

"I know, Sammy," Dean flipped open the journal, a hint of irritation flavoring his words. "I know it's not good." He was tired, and being tired was wearing on his nerves. He wasn't recovering as quickly as he'd like either, and the aches and pains were making the impending task at hand seem insurmountable.

"What do we do if...if McGee is really gone?" The question was quiet, more to himself than to his brother.

"I dunno, Sammy," Dean answered anyway, feeling the weight of the world settle back on his shoulders. "I dunno."

**000086753090000**

"Agent Gibbs." Director Vance's voice cut through the relative quiet of the office as he regarded the two men in front of him.

"Yes, _director?" _Gibbs returned, careful to keep his face schooled into a mask of indifference. He was well aware of how he and Tony looked. He had expected it to draw the director's attention. He had hoped it wouldn't.

"Do you mind explaining to me...why two of my best agents _on leave_ look like they've gone ten rounds in the ring?"

Tony laughed, but it was a muted, humorless laugh that was completely out of character for the vivacious man who usually made light of any situation brought his way. "We _did_ go ten rounds, sir." A sharp glance from Gibbs stilled the comment on his tongue, causing him to clear his throat. "Besides, um...sir, you wouldn't believe us if we told you."

Vance studied Tony for a long moment before he kicked back in his chair, reaching for the ever present toothpick in his pocket. "Don't you think that's for _me_ to decide, Agent DiNozzo?"

"No, director," he answered brazenly. "As a matter of fact, I think there may be a higher power in play here."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs warned.

"Higher power?" Vance repeated, cutting over Gibbs, the look in his eyes deadly. "There is no higher power in this agency." He picked up a stack of folders on his desk. "You know what this is? Huh?" He tossed the folders back on his desk. "Paperwork, from Bethesda Naval Hospital. Charges for: Anthony DiNozzo, Leroy Gibbs, Ziva David, and two unknowns. Where the hell is McGee and who the hell are these two unknown men? _What __happened, Gibbs?_"

The team leader sighed, leaning forward slightly. "This has everything to do with the case I asked for, the disappearances."

"You found them?"

"Yeah, we found them." He cast a short glance over at his senior field agent before continuing. "You're not gonna like what we have to tell you, Leon. There _is_ a higher power at play here."

"Start talkin'."

Reluctantly, Gibbs talked the director through what had happened, thankful that the other man was content to listen in silence without interrupting. There was no way to tell what the director was thinking as he listened to the silver-haired agent relate the events of what had happened since McGee had left the hospital. He showed no indication of surprise at the mention of the 'higher power' that Tony had mentioned, no disbelief as he heard that an angel had already given them this assignment before Vance had granted it. He showed no inkling of acknowledgment as Gibbs told him who the two unknown men were and why they were in town. Eventually, Gibbs sat silently, unsure of what to add, knowing how crazy his story sounded.

Vance chewed on his toothpick thoughtfully, his gaze drifting off to settle on the large pictures that adorned his wall. Despite the fact that he and Gibbs simply did not get along, there was no arguing that Director Leon Vance was an intelligent man. His silence signified a deep thought as he mulled over what he'd just been fed.

The two other men in the room were left to wait, basically on pins and needles, until Vance reached whatever decision he was being led to. His anger would lead to a shut down of the mission, and most likely a withdrawal of all agency help. If they were lucky, their jobs would be spared. If he somehow magically came to the conclusion that he believed them, that might mean much more agency leniency and firepower if needed.

As if in slow motion, Vance reached up, removing the toothpick from his mouth and flicking it absently into the trash can beside his desk before he turned square to face them, his hands clasping together to rest on the desk in front of him. His jaw worked as if he were chewing on his words, choosing them carefully as his eyes bored into the icy blue of his team leader.

"I'm not sure whether to fire you," he began calmly, "or to have you and your team ordered for immediate psych eval." He took a deep breath. "Did you _hear_ what you just said to me, Agent Gibbs?"

"I know exactly what I said to you, director," the older man defended.

"Angels? Demons? Hunters? Valkyries? _Sacrifices?_" he scoffed. "Sounds like a load of bull shit to me, Gibbs."

"I guess so, Leon."

"Don't talk down to me, Gibbs. I should have your badge." He was angry, and Gibbs' overly flippant tone only exacerbated the situation. "I expect this kind of behavior out of DiNozzo, Gibbs, but you're not one to feed me a story like this."

"Shouldn't that be enough to tell you that I'm tellin' the truth?"

"It _is_ true, director," Tony added sedately. "I mean, there's a semi-conscious angel named Castiel on Gibbs' couch right now."

Vance's jaw worked again, his face a mask of ultimate disbelief.

"This is gettin' us nowhere," Gibbs growled, standing up. "Come with us." He motioned to Tony, who stood beside him.

Vance didn't move, staring up at the two men. "Sit down, Gibbs, we're not done here."

"Leon, come on. You're not gonna believe anything I tell you until you see it for yourself. Let's go."

He looked as if he wanted to disagree again, fighting with the choice of whether or not to take Gibbs' badge and gun. Eventually, however, he stood, straightening his suit jacket and swallowing his objections. Curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he couldn't deny wanting to get to the truth.

"Gibbs," he said warningly, stepping out from behind the desk.

"Just drop it, Leon." He moved toward the door, letting himself out. "We'll fill you in on the case on the way."

**000086753090000**

After only two hours sleep, Sam and Dean had roused and drug themselves to the kitchen to sit with Bobby, pouring over books in hopes of finding a protection spell that would work. Castiel was no help, still unconscious on the couch. Abby had taken a watch, sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, staring absently at the angel as he slept. Ducky had retreated to an upstairs room to sleep, leaving the three hunters studying alone.

Dean yawned widely, blinking to clear his bleary eyes as he lifted the book he'd been given. Bobby chuckled, sliding a half-drank cup of coffee toward him.

"Thanks," the older Winchester grunted, downing half the mug.

Sam smirked slightly behind his book, reclined in the chair. He had always been the more studious of the two.

"Dig in, boys," Bobby murmured, "there's plenty to go around."

**tbc...**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sending apologies for the long delay. For those of you interested, the residency visa is going well. Thanks for all the new adds and reviews, even those who have came through in the last week for both Part One and Part Two.**

Gibbs swung the government-issue sedan against the curb outside of the shelter and the three men climbed out, Gibbs and DiNozzo both checking their firearms before they started off toward the building. Vance followed, falling easily into step beside them, his eyes sweeping the eerily silent scape before him. Even the youth center was quiet, which was unusual for this part of the city. He cast a sideways glace at the older man beside him, but said nothing, his gut giving an awkward clench in preparation for what he might see. Gibbs had said nothing, but the tense set of his shoulders suggested that he should prepare for the worst.

Gibbs nodded to his senior field agent, motioning for him to take point as they approached the door. DiNozzo moved forward, grasping the doorknob as Gibbs raised his firearm. A curt nod sent the door flying open and the three men crept inside, two guns raised and searching for anything that moved. The smell that greeted their noses would have caused normal men to gag, but they schooled their reaction, breathing shallowly through their mouths.

Vance forced himself not to gape, coming face-to-face with the floor-to-ceiling coating of blood that seemed to cover the room. Decomposing bodies, all women that he could tell, littered the floor. Valkyries.

Gibbs returned his firearm to his holster and Tony followed suit, continuing through the room, picking over the bodies as the senior agent described what had happened. He pulled open a door at the back of the facility, showing the director where the soldiers had been kept before their sacrifice, where three bloated bodies were now stacked, their eyes staring blankly up at the new men. The effect was overwhelming, sending the director heading back toward the front door for fresh air.

Closing the door firmly behind them, Gibbs and Tony trekked after the other man, closing the building against the smell as they gathered at the front of the building. Vance took great gulps of the fresh air, his eyes watering slightly.

"This can't be left like this, Gibbs," Vance finally spoke, his voice quavering. He glanced at the senior agent, then back at the building. "We can't...we can't let this get out. The other agencies...they can't know. This will ruin us."

"I don't think we're gonna have a choice, Leon," Gibbs said quietly. "Can't keep something like this under wraps. I could talk to Fornell..."

"No." Vance found himself pacing, his hands firmly against his hips. "Not yet." He worried his bottom lip, mulling over their options. "Need to...get this building secured. Gotta make a few phone calls..." He moved away from them, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

Tony looked over at his boss, a slightly amused look crossing his face before he hid it away, knowing the moment was serious. It hadn't, however, gone unnoticed.

"I expected as much," Gibbs murmured, nodding toward the director.

"Any idea how we're gonna keep this under wraps?" Tony asked instead, clearly worried.

Gibbs sighed, shaking his head. "Maybe...divine intervention?" He seemed hopeful, but he had no idea where to place his hope. Something of this scale would be otherwise impossible to keep quiet. Eventually, the smell would alert locals that something was wrong. Eventually, someone would come seeking asylum at the facility and would discover the mess. Something had to be done, and it had to be done on their terms.

Vance hung up the phone, turning absently back to the two men who stood quietly to the side, waiting for his orders. He shook his head, his hand trembling as he raised it to drag across his mouth.

"Well?" Gibbs asked expectantly.

"Crew will be here within the hour to clean up. All bodies will be taken back to NCIS headquarters. Ducky needs to be there."

Gibbs nodded.

"Gonna have to take our chances with media leaks, I'm afraid."

Gibbs nodded again. They could expect nothing less.

"If this...angel thing...is real..." Vane struggled with his words, unsure of what to say, "I mean, I'll have to address the agency directors...all of them. I'll have to brief the SecNav...hell, this may go all the way to the top."

Tony flinched. They knew it had been a possibility, but hearing it threw them off balance.

"Guess all that's left is for you to meet Castiel, then," Gibbs said instead, gesturing toward the car.

Vance wiped his palms against his suit pants, forcing his legs to work and propel him back to the car. He was silent for the duration of the ride back to Gibbs' house, and he had to force himself to face the unknown, counting his steps as they made their way to the front door.

Gibbs hung his jacket on the peg by the doorway and laid his gun on the shelf by the door, announcing their return to the house. Dean stepped out of the kitchen, his eyes immediately coming to rest on the newcomer in the room, apprehension stilling his tongue. Without having been told, he had to guess that this was Gibbs' boss, and that their cover had been blown.

"Relax, Dean," Gibbs murmured, stepping by him to round up the others from the kitchen, herding everyone into the living room.

Vance stood stoically by the couch, looking over the dirty, trench-coat clad man that was stretched over the length of the seat. After a long moment, he drug his eyes from the man he figured to be the angel to find Sam and Dean studying him from by the stairs. He found them vaguely familiar, as if he'd seen them somewhere before.

It took several long minutes, but eventually, the full team was assembled in the living room; the uneasiness was palpable.

Tony cleared his throat, motioning toward the sofa. "So, yeah, um...this is Castiel, the trench-coat-wearing angel."

"Doesn't look like much of an angel to me," Vance murmured, finding his voice. "Aren't they supposed to have...wings and halos?"

"I think Cas here might've lost halo privileges a while ago," Dean answered gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest, "but he's got the wings...when he wants to show 'em."

"His vessel is human," Sam supplied quietly.

"And who are you two? You look familiar." Vance studied them openly.

"I'm Sam, and this is Dean. Winchester."

"We were on pretty much every agency wanted list there for a good long while," Dean retorted.

"Why shouldn't I have you all arrested? Every single one of you." He rounded back on the team leader. "Gibbs, do you have _any_ idea of the position you have put me...and the agency in?"

Wordlessly, Bobby pushed by the director, kneeling beside the couch, pulling something from his pocket. "Cas, need ya to come around," he murmured, waving what appeared to be smelling salts under the angel's nose. It did the trick, sending the semi-conscious angel into a coughing fit, his eyes opening blearily to the room. With a firm hand, Bobby helped Cas sit up, sliding into a supportive position behind him.

"Wh-what's goin' on?" Castiel managed, his words slurred together in weakness. It would be a full day or more before he was fully recovered. Slowly, he settled, his tired eyes coming to rest on the man standing at the foot of the couch. "Leon Vance."

He nodded once.

Castiel glanced around the room before settling back on the director. "We have much to discuss."

**tbc...**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanking you all for you patience once more. I've been away celebrating my first year with the hubby. I do hope you find that this chapter was worth waiting for. Without further delay...**

Bobby settled Castiel carefully against the back of the couch before standing, moving to stand with the brothers. The tension in the room was palpable, and the angel's condition wasn't helping matters along. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, those gathered in the room fading in and out of view. It frustrated him. It had been centuries since he'd fallen so weak, and they couldn't afford such weakness now. The job that loomed at hand was on the line. Without the support of Director Vance, all they had worked for would be in danger. They had to complete their task. He had to see to it.

His eyes drifted over to the elder Winchester, "Dean, any...word from...Zerachiel?" The words were slow, forced from the angel's lips with an iron determination.

"No, Cas." Dean frowned slightly. "No word yet."

Castiel leaned his head back against the couch, nodding, swallowing over the lump in his throat. "Leon Vance, as I said...we have much to discuss."

"I'm listening," came the gruff reply. Vance was defensive, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. It was clear he was uncomfortable and that he didn't know what to do with himself.

"There are...things at play here that reach beyond the constraints of your human law. Human law _cannot_ stop what is to come, and it cannot interfere with what we must do." He sighed. "Sacrifices...these killings began with the descendants of the samurai in China. Hundreds of them. Men and young boys from villages in Africa were snatched up and never seen again. Military personnel from every major military infrastructure in the world have gone missing." He looked over for emphasis. "The list is too large to name. The point is...that the final sacrifices were to come from here. We stopped that." He nodded toward the brothers. "They were to be the last pieces of the puzzle."

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, a slightly sick look crossing his face.

"What puzzle?" Vance demanded.

"Resurrecting Odin."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Everyone but Vance had heard this information, but it didn't sit any less lightly with them. The director's eyes bored into the angel, his fingers twitching against his forearm.

"Odin," he repeated, his voice edged in disbelief. "Nordic mythology?"

Castiel forced himself to sit up, the effort winding him slightly. "Mythology...is not always 'mythology.' Have you ever pondered the deeper meaning behind the commandment 'thou shalt have no other god before me?' These mythological gods...they do exist. Well, some of them do. Baldur, Ganesh, Odin...Lucifer killed many of them during his brief walk on earth. The Valkyries have rallied to raise their father once more."

"Lucifer...Lucifer was here?" Vance asked, his eyes darting over those gathered in the room.

Castiel nodded toward the younger Winchester. "Sam is his vessel. Two halves of a whole."

All attention in the room shifted to Sam. The color had drained from the young Winchester's face, his lips forming a thin line of what could have been anger.

"Nice, Cas," Dean growled. "We'd managed to make it this far by _leaving that little part out._"

"I am sorry, Dean, but there is no time to mince words. The truth must be told." Castiel cast what might have been an apologetic glance toward Sam before turning back to the task at hand. "Lucifer is once more locked in his cage, the apocalypse has been adverted, and Sam is on his way to being made whole again." He paused. "The potential resurrection of Odin would bring yet another apocalypse...an unforeseen turn of events."

"If he was alive before,...why would his resurrection pose a problem?" Ziva asked quietly, her hands clasped in front of her as she looked anywhere but toward Sam.

"During Odin's prime, he was presiding over the largest fields of slaughter and had his choice of souls. He was _very_ powerful. With the rapid spread of Christianity, the choice of souls began to slow. Souls were separated between Heaven and Hell. Odin weakened. With the sacrifices now and the number of souls that have been killed in his name, Odin would be powerful...too powerful to destroy. If Sam and Dean are sacrificed in his name before we complete our mission, Odin will bring about another apocalypse, and if you believe he will be merciful, you are sorely mistaken. He will strive to _fill_ Valhalla with the souls of those he slays. No one will be safe. No one."

No one had before heard Castiel or the brothers speak about the implications of a second apocalypse. They hadn't even noticed the first apocalypse go by. The severity of the situation seemed to hit them all. Gibbs sought a seat on the stairs next to a perplexed Ziva, resting a hand gently on her shoulder in reassurance. It was a long while before anyone could find the words to speak.

"What...what do you need from me?" Vance reluctantly asked.

"I need you to not interfere. I _need_ you to keep the other agencies at bay. We must succeed."

"Succeed at what? What are you planning to do, Castiel?"

"We must destroy Valhalla." His abnormally deep voice seemed deeper with those words, a hint of his former strength showing, a hint of his wings flashing behind him.

The effect seemed to overwhelm the director, sending him seeking the privacy of the deserted kitchen. Castiel relaxed back against the welcoming cushions, his eyes raking over the ceiling as he settled in.

"Do you remember when we went to rescue your brother from Zachariah?" he asked, addressing the brothers.

They knew what he meant. Castiel had sacrificed himself, etching the banishing spell into his skin to clear the warehouse of angels, giving Sam and Dean a clear shot at rescuing Adam. They had thought him lost until he'd called them from a hospital, very much human and very much in pain.

"That's what I feel like now."

"What can we do?" Dean asked quietly, moving aside as Bobby moved out of the room.

"Find Zerachiel. We cannot continue without him."

**000086753090000**

The room had cleared. Gibbs had gone to check on Director Vance and Dean had taken Sam out to the back deck, seeking a place for Sam to regain his senses. Castiel's comment had shaken him, had shaken them all. They had silently agreed to make it through the ordeal without revealing Sam's stint with Lucifer and his time in the pit. Dean's condemnation had been conveniently skipped over as well. Revealing these secrets could have deep ramifications, shaking the team's trust in the two brothers and sabotaging the mission. Castiel could be thoughtless oftentimes with his words, unused to interacting with humans outside of the small family of hunters he frequented.

Ducky had taken his leave to oversee the removal of bodies from the shelter. Abby had moved to the basement after Bobby, just seeking a quiet place to think. Ziva remained behind sitting on the edge of the coffee table near Castiel, her eyes full of hurt and disbelief. Tony watched her quietly from the furthest corner, leaning back into the shadow as if trying to blend into the wall. After years of knowing Ziva, he had an uncanny sense when it came to her moods. She might not always show it, but she was a very emotional creature outside of her regimented response in the field. He loved her, more than one partner loves another, more perhaps than even a husband loves a wife. He knew she felt the same. It was for that reason that they did not give in to the emotions between them. It was also the reason that he was so protective of her feelings. He could tell that the news about Sam's past had affected her deeply, evident by how she lingered by the angel, silently waiting for answers that he would not give her.

"It is not me you need to speak with, Ziva," Castiel murmured quietly. "You should go to him. He will be honest with you."

Her jaw worked and she blinked back the moisture that stung her eyes. "Is he...is Sam evil?" The question was softly spoken and the words burned in her throat.

"Go to him, Ziva. I said more than I should have, and I am sorry."

Bobby cleared his throat, sending Ziva to her feet quickly, as if a shot had been fired. He stepped into the room, shattering the terse atmosphere that had settled over the room. He carried a bottle in his hand and a glass of water in the other. He moved over the sofa, nodding at Ziva as he handed the bottle and water to the angel.

They watched as Castiel snapped the bottle open and tipped it into his mouth, taking half of the contents, which appeared to be tylenol. He washed it down with a generous mouthful of water before nodding his thanks. He was familiar with the pills he'd taken as Dean had given him something similar before, after he'd had his first encounter with a liquor store. He'd felt better after taking the whole bottle, as Dean had suggested, and he was hoping it would work this time.

Bobby gestured for Ziva to follow him, pulling her out into the hallway, his eyes boring intensely into hers. "I have practically raised those boys," he managed, his voice shaking slightly. "Cas...he shouldn't have told ya what happened to Sam. That boy's been through so much. Hell, they both have...we _all_ have. He has spent his _entire_ life fightin' his destiny. The least you can do is sit down an' hear his side of the story." He turned on his heel then, leaving her alone, his words echoing in her mind.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded, more to affirm her feelings to herself, and started out to the deck, intending to take their advice to heart. She needed to hear these things for herself.

**tbc...**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: You've been asking for it, so here it is. I sincerely hope it's everything you wanted.**

Gibbs and Vance had settled at the kitchen table, each nursing a hot mug of steaming black coffee. The coffee seemed to have revived the director slightly, and he had finally began talking to Gibbs about what had just happened, sorting through his options with his senior agent. He was rattled and his thoughts were scattered, but with Gibbs' help, he seemed to be gaining his foothold once more. Bobby joined them, pouring himself a mug, quietly spiking it with the bottle of Jack he'd brought with him from the basement. He slid into an empty seat, nodding almost imperceptibly toward Gibbs.

"Alright?" he asked, taking an appreciative sip of the coffee.

Gibbs smirked, giving a half shrug by way of response. Bobby understood. Castiel could drive a point home, that was for sure.

The grizzled hunter sat the bottle of Jack on the center of the table, the invitation unspoken. Sometimes, alcohol was the only medicine that mattered in this business. Sometimes it was the only medicine around, whether for antiseptic or for drowning one's sorrows. It was rare he left home without it now.

Vance was the first to reach for it, pouring a generous amount into his mug, not even bothering to mix it before taking a great gulp and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He went back for another, taking another mouthful before sitting back in the chair, leaning his head back and gazing at the wall.

"This is huge," he finally offered, the usual strength in his voice seeming to have fled. He sounded tired. "I've done...a lot of things in my day, but this...and...he's an _angel?"_ He looked over at Bobby for affirmation.

"Yeah," Bobby answered, "he's an angel. Damned idjit mosta the time. He doesn't deal with people much." A sad smile touched his lips. "Good to have 'im on our side, though. He's loyal. Got us outta more scrapes, healed us more times than I care to count." He couldn't help but think back to the graveyard where Castiel had brought him back to life after he'd been killed by Lucifer. He stuck his hand out toward the director. "Bobby Singer, hunter...and salvage man."

The director shook the hunter's hand, nodding slightly. "Leon Vance, director of NCIS...and new believer, I think."

Bobby chuckled, but it was devoid of humor. "Not always a good thing to have your eyes opened."

"I had no idea this world existed."

"As long as there's been good, there's been evil. If there are angels, there are demons. I've had enough of both, truth ta tell." He took a large swig, smacking his lips together in appreciation. "And it's not just demons...every monster an' thing that goes bump in the night that you could ever imagine. Ghosts, zombies, vampires,...werewolves..."

Vance waved his hand weakly. "That's...that's enough. That's...too much to process."

"Sorry."

"This seems like an interesting world, I'm just not sure I'm ready to dive in head first. Not just yet." Vance scratched the non-existent stubble on his cheek. "I'll give you all the help I can...but I can't guarantee I'm gonna be able to keep this quiet. That's a lot of bodies. The families of those men are gonna be asking questions. I can only stall for so long."

"Well," Bobby sighed, "hopefully this won't take long. Just gotta wait for Cas to pull himself together." He looked back toward the living room.

"Your boys up to this?" Vance asked, a hint of his former strength creeping into his voice. This was a mission, and in a way, he was party responsible. He needed to know that it was going to happen. It was the part of him that he could not silence.

"My boys have done the unthinkable more times than I care to count. If there's anyone who can do this...it's them."

Gibbs thought back to the shelter, watching the boys work. Despite what Castiel had revealed to him, it couldn't shatter what he'd seen. He knew what the Winchesters were made of, and they were of a different cut of steel than anyone he'd ever worked with. If there was any team that would be able to pull off the impossible, it would be them. Of that, he was sure.

**000086753090000**

Dean's face was mutinous and he paced angrily across the deck, his hands firmly planted on his hips. Sam, more sedately, had leaned against the railing, his eyes watching the path his brother was taking.

"Dean, it was gonna some out sooner or later," Sam rationalized. "I mean, at least it's all out in the open now."

"Yeah. In one swift move, Cas has...chopped away everything we've worked for since we got here. Ziva's been makin' eyes at you since you got here, Sammy. Since Cas opened his mouth, she's not been able to even..._look _your way! How do you think she's gonna handle hearing all the juicy details about how you were Lucifer's meatsuit? Huh?"

Sam deflated, dropping his eyes. He truly felt something for Ziva. They'd had a connection since he showed up on Gibbs' doorstep.

"Who's gonna want to take orders from two men...who've both been to Hell and back, huh?" The fight seemed to leave Dean and he plopped down unceremoniously onto the step. "That angel needs a serious muzzle sometimes."

"Well, it's out now, and we just have to deal with it," Sam sighed. "I think it's best now to just...tell the truth. If they ask, just tell them."

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean's hand fisted in his lap, "I haven't even told _you_ everything."

"I know, Dean. I haven't told you everything either."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the two of them and they retreated to their own thoughts. The sound of the door opening behind them snapped them back to reality. Sam turned, shocked to see Ziva standing there, looking between the two brothers, pale, chewing on her bottom lip. Dean climbed to his feet, mumbling an awkward greeting.

"I was wondering if I could talk to Sam," she said quietly, her eyes locking briefly with Dean's.

He stood, casting only a glance at his brother before moving toward the door, knowing that the confrontation was inevitable. He paused by her side, waiting for her to look up at him.

"Look, I'm not gonna tell you how this should go," he murmured, "but that's my brother, and he's been through more than you could ever imagine. If he says he can't talk about it...he's not trying to hide it from you...just..."

"Dean," she interrupted quietly, "I understand." A sad smile touched her lips and she squeezed his hand. "I will be gentle."

He nodded, tearing away from her and closing the door more heavily behind him than he'd intended, leaving Sam and Ziva alone outside.

She smiled nervously, moving to stand beside him. Alone. She was alone with the man who had apparently been the vessel for the ultimate evil. There was no denying that it made her doubt everything her heart was telling her.

"So," he began nervously, his hands clasped firmly in front of him.

"Look, Bobby already confronted me in the hallway. He...told me that you have spent your whole life fighting against your destiny which I _assume_ to mean what happened with...with Lucifer." She took a steadying breath. "Would you have allowed things to progress between us without telling me?"

"That's not who I am," he confessed. "It wouldn't have felt right...I mean, that's why I haven't given in to what...to what I feel for you, Ziva. I do feel something for you and...it's something I haven't felt for a very, very long time." He closed his eyes. "It makes me feel alive for the first time since I lost her."

She felt her chest tighten in sympathy, but she stayed quiet, braving to look over at him to see the emotions playing across his face.

"My mother died trying to save me from a deal she made...a deal she made with a demon to save my father." He exhaled shakily, feeling memories take him. The only way through was to keep talking. "That night changed my entire family...it made me...and Dean...what we are. Because of that deal, I have demon blood running through my veins, Ziva. That has been a part of me for my whole life. _That_ has been what I've been fighting against...it's what made me Lucifer's vessel." He looked over at her through haunted eyes, pleading with her to see what he saw, what he'd been through. He needed understanding, and he knew she could never understand. No one could. Not even Dean. Their destinies had been so different. "Dean has spent his whole life looking out for me. My father...died protecting the two of us...from what he and mom had done."

"What...?"

"Dad spent the rest of his life hunting down the demon that killed my mom...which means that Dean and I were constantly moved around. Different schools, different hotel every couple of weeks...Dad would be gone for days...even weeks at a time. My only escape was college...and that's where I met Jessica. I loved her...more than anything. It's been years since I watched her die, and I still wake up in a cold sweat...reliving that moment...over...and over again." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "She died the same way my mom did, ya know. It's what pulled me back into hunting. Revenge. Vengeance. The need to find my father. Dean couldn't do it alone. The demon made _sure_ we were on the path to fulfilling the roles destiny had laid out for us...by killing _everyone_ that meant a _damn_ to us."

Eyes wide and willing the story to stop, Ziva was forced to wordlessly take in everything that Sam was telling her.

"We've been yanked around by every angel and every demon that you could imagine. We've been hospitalized, jailed, stuck in asylums...Sounds more like a bad soap opera really. Dean was destined to be Michael's vessel...and I was destined to be Lucifer's...He was always destined to kill me. That's how things were supposed to have played out. I shouldn't be here."

Her heart was racing now and she felt light headed. Castiel had told her that Sam would be honest, but she hadn't counted on where that honesty would take her. She'd always been drawn to projects, to men who were damaged, just as she was, but from what she was hearing, Sam didn't even appear to be human. He shouldn't even be alive. That thought alone frightened her more than she knew how to express.

"I have done _everything_ in my life with the best intentions. Even before I knew what was wrong with me, I was always trying to do the _right_ thing, no matter what it cost me. I fought my fate for so long. Dean and I both did." His voice was small, weak, pleading. "We're still fighting. We've...died for each other. We've both been in Hell. Much of me is still there." It was the first time he'd uttered those words, the first time he'd admitted that hell was just behind his shoulder. He'd even tried to deny it when he'd blacked out in front of his brother and Dean had seen the flames reflected in his eyes.

"Sam," she whispered, seeing the familiar haunt in his eyes. She'd been able to stop it before. Pushing her fear aside, she grasped his hand, pulling him to her and wrapping her arms around him. She could hear his thundering heartbeat, racing far too fast. She could feel the catch in his breath from where he fought to keep his tears in check. He was falling apart in her arms, and that scared her more than what he was telling her. "I am here, Sam, and I am not going anywhere."

Instinctively, he returned her embrace, using her warmth to anchor himself. "Do you know what it's like to not have the strength to fight anymore?"

"Yes," she answered simply.

"I didn't want to tell you because all of this...is not who I am. I am _me_ despite everything that's happened. I'm still good. I'm still good. _I'm still good."_ He repeated himself several times before falling silent.

"I have seen the good in you, Sam," she assured. "I would have never known any of this had happened to you otherwise."

Winded, he sank to his knees, pulling her with him. It brought them eye level with one another, and he gazed at her with an intensity that heated her through. There, he admitted to her what he'd done with Ruby. He confessed to drinking demon blood. He spoke of giving in to the evil and of being responsible for starting the apocalypse. He admitted to what it had felt like to play host to the ultimate evil, and to what he'd done when Lucifer was in control of his body. He spared nothing, letting the words flow from him as if purging the poison that was slowly killing him.

Desperate, she placed her hand over his mouth, halting the flow of words that seemed to have no end. "Please," she begged, "there is so much..." She blinked back tears. "I do not see any of this when I look at you, Sam. It seems you are...two different people."

"Sometimes it feels like I am," he admitted brokenly.

She involuntarily shuddered as she looked over his face, imagining blood crossing his lips. A bitter taste filled her mouth. She could never imagine voluntarily drinking blood in the amounts that he'd confessed to. It made her stomach roil.

"I'm sorry...I didn't want to do this," he whispered, silently cursing Castiel for forcing his hand.

She shook her head. "No." She steeled herself. "You have had...a life of hardship, Sam Winchester. I cannot say that I am not disturbed. I am...clearly...disturbed." She grimaced apologetically. "Your purpose now is redemption, yes?"

"I will spend every single day trying to redeem myself," he agreed.

She gently cupped his face in her shaking hands. "Then who am I to condemn you?" Daringly, she leaned forward and brushed her lips across his, forcing her discomfort aside.

He held tightly to her, as if she were his life-line. The acceptance conveyed in that small gesture took his breath away and he cried unashamedly.

She sank further down, situating her back against the railing until his head came to rest in her lap. There, she consoled him, allowing him to cry, to grieve, for the first time in a very long time. She allowed herself to be vulnerable with him, and she grieved for the young man she held, for the life he'd lived and the life he'd lost, and silently, she vowed to be the one good thing in his life that he could look forward to.

**000086753090000**

The coffee had ran dry in the kitchen with the addition of Dean, and Gibbs occupied himself with brewing another pot. The older Winchester was tense, and kept glancing down the hallway toward the back door, ready to bolt at a moment's notice. The protectiveness of his brother was obvious. Occasionally, he'd cast a scowl toward the living room, silently cursing Castiel's nature and how easily he'd spoken about what had happened to them. He didn't like feeling exposed.

Bobby leaned over, pouring a measure of Jack into Dean's coffee, drawing his attention back to the kitchen. "It'll do ya some good, son. Everyone else has had some."

Dean nursed the mug in his hands, sighing heavily. "It's my job to protect him and here I am letting him spill his guts to some chick who could easily..._easily_ crush everything we've worked for since Cas let him out of the cage." He downed half the glass, scowling.

"Hey," Gibbs brought a hearty smack to the back of Dean's head. He leaned down, staring intently into the eyes of the younger man, something he'd done time and again with DiNozzo. "That 'chick' is probably the best thing for your brother right now. I don't know what happened to him and frankly, I'm scared to know, and that's not easy for me to admit, but if anyone can handle what's being dished out, it's Ziva David."

Dean didn't rise to meet the challenge in the agent's eyes. It was clear his faith in his agents was unshakable. Reluctantly, Dean nodded.

Satisfied, Gibbs backed away and sank back into his seat.

"What now?" Vance asked, breaking the silence.

Bobby sighed, standing to seek another cup of coffee. "Now...we wait."

**tbc...**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Your reviews are all so yummy! I'm very glad you all enjoyed the last chapter. If I haven't properly thank you (which I always try to do), then please, accept this "THANK YOU!" I love you all.**

Vance pushed away from the table, eyes bleary in exhaustion and alcohol. They'd finished the bottle over the course of the hour, and Bobby had produced yet another when Tony joined them. With numbed senses, the burden of what they were under seemed less, and they welcomed the facade, reveling in the brief relief it allowed them. They'd worry in the morning. There was enough on everyone's plate.

"Goin' somewhere, Leon?" Gibbs asked, blinking slowly up at the director.

"Yeah," he replied, stretching, "before I drink myself too far under the table." He adjusted his jacket absently. "Gonna check the progress of the...clean up. No doubt there'll be mayhem at the office. Gotta catch it before it gets too far out of hand."

"You okay to drive?"

"Haven't had as much as you, Gibbs." He took the keys from the edge of the table, grateful that Gibbs had taken an issued sedan when they'd left NCIS headquarters. "Rest up. We've got..." His sentence disappeared into a startled cry as the missing angel, Zerachiel, appeared behind Tony, disheveled and swaying dangerously. "McGee?"

Tony scrambled quickly to his feet, pulling the chair back for the angel to sink into. He nodded thankfully, leaning back into the firm support of the back of the chair.

"Castiel?" he managed, looking over at Dean, who had half-risen from his chair.

"Alive," he answered. "What the hell happened to you? Do you know how worried we've been?"

"Got separated from Castiel after we left the shelter. We were being chased, so we split up. I don't know how Castiel got away so fast. I just managed to get free." He took a deep breath, glancing around the room. His eyes came to land on Director Vance, and he nodded in greeting. "No, director, not McGee."

Vance sank back down in his own chair, blinking slowly at the image of the agent in front of him. "Not McGee?"

"Angel," Tony interjected. "Namely one Zerachiel." He cast a lopsided grin at the angel, rocking back on his chair legs.

"Angel," Vance repeated weakly, passing his hand over his eyes. He shook his head, pushing himself to his feet again. Carefully, he schooled his face into a mask of indifference and pocketed his keys. "I have a job to do and right now, I think that's where I need to be. I'll be back later...when I've had a chance to process some of this." He turned on his heel and walked purposefully from the house, the door swinging shut behind him.

Those left inside watched him go before turning back to Zerachiel, waiting for him to speak.

"I need some time to recover. Has Castiel said anything? Do we have a plan?"

"Nothing solid yet. He's in worse shape than you," Dean replied.

The angel nodded and unsteadily found his feet. "I have to rest. Please...have Castiel find me when he wakes." Forcing himself to focus, he moved from the room and down the hallway to the room that McGee had occupied.

Those in the kitchen resumed their seats slowly after hearing the door click closed. Dean scowled deeply at his coffee mug, his mind now moving from worry for his brother to worry for the task in front of them. They'd all almost been killed ridding the shelter of Valkyries and stopping the last of the sacrifices. Now, they were facing walking into Valhalla to finish the job, where there would undoubtedly be endless numbers of Valkyrie to face, and he and Sam were _the_ prime targets. With the condition that Zerachiel and Castiel had found themselves in after the shelter, he couldn't help but feel that their chances had gone from slim to none.

"If there's one thing I've learned in all my years of doin' this job...it's that it don't get easier," Bobby spoke roughly, breaking the silence as if he were reading Dean's mind. "Hunters, agents...ain't none of us guaranteed another day when we step out on a job."

"I'll drink to that," Gibbs said, raising his mug.

"Hell, I spend most of my time just waitin'...wonderin' when the luck's gonna run out. Done lost everything in my life that's mattered, 'cept for the boys."

"Sounds rough," Tony offered.

"Had our fair share too," Gibbs added. "Shannon and Kelly, Jenny, Kate...McGee, more than likely..."

"My mom, my dad, my brother, myself," Dean continued quietly. He looked up from his mug, seeing that all eyes had settled on him. "My grandparents, Lisa and Ben,...there are casualties all over the place." He slammed down the last in his mug, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "Takes a lot out of you, ya know." He glanced toward the now-empty bottle in front of him, sighing. "You got any more of that, Bobby?"

"Fresh out."

The older Winchester grunted, finding his own feet. "Then I'm...goin' out to get more. Any special requests?"

"Bourbon." The former marine tipped his glass as Dean nodded.

Tony stood, grabbing his jacket and sliding his cell phone in his pocket. "I'll go with ya. Could use the air."

The two older men shared a heavy moment of silence.

Gibbs cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Your boy alright?"

"Neither of 'em oughta be here, really. If it wasn't for Cas out there...well, neither of them _would_ be here. None of us would." He shifted in his seat.

"Can't even begin to imagine what the lot of you have gone through."

Bobby laughed, a sad, hollow sound that dropped heavily from his lips. Slowly, he shook his head, looking down at his empty glass with a bit of resentment. "Gibbs, I don't know you from Adam's house cat, at least not yet, but I know you'll believe me when I tell ya...death ain't the end." He shook his head. "Before this thing's all over, I think ya'll will know that too."

**000086753090000**

A small, sad smile touched Sam's lips and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, reluctantly sitting up from Ziva's lap. He cleared his throat, resting back against the railing that surrounded the small deck. She offered him her own small smile, wiping at her own face. He blinked, immediately reaching over to brush her tears away.

"I'm sorry," he apologized brokenly, "I didn't mean to make you cry."

She caught his hands in her own and lowered them slowly to her lap, her eyes locking with his in a bold confrontation. "I am not normally one to show how I feel," she confessed. "That was not my upbringing. It was not until I became part of the team here at NCIS that I learned that it was okay to feel things and to show them. It has taken a _very_ long time for me to accept that grieving is normal." She squeezed his hands. "How could I not grieve for the life you have lost and the one that you have lived in its place? How could I not grieve for the circumstances that have brought you into my life? It is a _very_ hard, unfair life you have lived, Sam Winchester. The amount you have lost and sacrificed is unimaginable to me."

He swallowed awkwardly around the lump in his throat.

"You need something...some_one_...positive in your life...something to balance out the pain," she pressed on. "If you will let me, I would like to be that something."

Eyes wide, he could only managed a shocked nod before folding her into strong arms, holding to her as if she was his only lifeline. He was dumbfounded, completely knocked off his feet, by this woman. Sudden laughter bubbled from his lips, and for the first time he could remember, he felt the beginnings of happiness stirring inside him. He sighed, a genuine smile settling on his lips.

"Thank you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You're amazing."

She settled against him, breathing in his scent, for the first time feeling her own bit of peace. While it would take a long while for her to work through the issues she had with Sam's past and what he'd been through, she'd determined that he'd be worth it. He _wasn't_ the normal project. She breathed her own sigh, pushing the thoughts from her mind, losing herself in the moment. In that space of time, everything was okay. Everything would be okay.

**000086753090000**

_ :Tune in for the next installment, coming soon. Dean and Tony have left the house for the bottle shop. Find out what happens to cause Tony to return to the house alone and bloody.:_

**tbc...**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks to everyone, as always, for your wonderful reviews. I apologize for leaving you hanging at such a bad place last week.**

Dean walked along, his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes locked on something unnamed in front of him. He didn't mind Tony's company. The talkative young agent offered a distraction, and he couldn't help but notice how much alike they were, or how alike they would have been if Dean's life had turned out differently. The cycle of loss and suffering had dimmed his humor slightly and made him a lot more bitter than the agent. It was that realization that stilled his own tongue and pushed him into a darker mood.

Tony clapped him on the shoulder, startling him back to the present. "Life's too short to brood, my friend."

Dean grunted, shaking his head. "You have no idea."

DiNozzo adjusted the sling on his arm, shrugging slightly. "I have _some_ idea. There have been a few close calls with this job, ya know. Forget all the bullets flying past your head and the few that manage to find flesh to lodge themselves in..." he trailed off slowly, grimacing. "I mean, a few years back, a strain of the plague was sent to the office, addressed to me. I almost died. My lungs are fubar now."

He looked over at his counterpart, a sad look of understanding marching across his face. "I'm sorry, Tony." His voice was gruff, more so than usual, flavored with regret. "And I'm sorry you got pulled into this mess. All of you. You guys don't deserve this."

"We've always been at the top of our game, our little team. It may not be convenient and we may not be guaranteed to live through this,..._but_...this is our chance to save the world. We may save the world one criminal at a time, but this...this is huge." He smiled slightly. "What kind of very special agent would I be if I passed up the opportunity to save everyone?"

"A smart one," Dean retorted. He couldn't help but smile slightly. "It's good you've got that drive, Tony, and it's good you don't have the experience that my brother and I do. Believe me, saving the world is not something you jump at after the first time."

The short walk had brought them to the closest bottle shop, a small building on a quiet street corner. Dean let himself in, holding the door for Tony. He threw a nod and grunted greeting toward the middle-aged man behind the counter before moving to roam the shelves. He needed something that would numb him from head to toe and make him forget what they were in the middle of. He'd not found anything over the course of the years that he'd been hunting, but he'd not given up hope.

"I know," Tony finally spoke from the next aisle over, "they just don't make anything strong enough." He picked up a bottle of Makers. "This works for Gibbs. Dunno how he does it."

"He seems like a good boss."

"The best. Tries to be hard with us, but treats us like his kids. Handy with a gun, instinct I'd kill for..." He chuckled. "I guess I want to be like Gibbs when I grow up." He threw a lopsided grin toward Dean. "If I grow up, that is."

Dean raised a bottle of whiskey in mock toast before sauntering up to the counter. "Strongest ya got?" he asked the cashier, reaching for his wallet. He frowned slightly at the affirmative nod, but slid his card across the counter. He took the bourbon from Tony, adding it to his bill and taking the bag with their bottles with a nod of thanks.

They stepped back out onto the sidewalk, breathing almost identical sighs of fresh air.

"So, look," Tony ventured quietly, "we're working pretty closely together here. I was wondering...if you'd tell me a little bit about that haunted look you get every once in a while." He nodded toward the bag. "Or why you need to drown yourself in whiskey." He shifted his stride uncomfortably. "Figured if Sam was getting some listening time, you might like some too."

Dean's hand twitched and he shoved it in his pocket, annoyed. "That's very...sweet, Tony, but I don't do that whole chick flick thing."

"Just wanna know who I'm working with, that's all," the agent shrugged, glancing off to the side, searching for anything to study in the quickly dimming light. "Not gonna sweep you up in my arms or anything. I'm no Prince Charming."

Exhaling slowly, the older Winchester gestured to the bench in front of them and they sat down. He pulled the whiskey from the bag and opened it, taking a swig from the bottle. He hissed through the burn, nodding once in appreciation before offering the bottle to Tony. "Me and Sam...we've been fighting for so long. Destiny and all the crap that comes with it. Angels, demons...pulling our strings from the very beginning. Try to be good. Try to fight where fate puts you...takes the life outta you, ya know?

"We lost our family. Bobby's all we got left." He glanced over at the still man beside him. "But that...that's not what you're lookin' for." He took another swig of the whiskey. "Me and Sam...we've both been in Hell. Not that Hell on Earth thing, but Hell. Fire, torture, demons...whole nine yards. I'm not gonna go into detail, but we've literally been there and back. It's not something you ever really recover from."

"Why...why were you in Hell?" Tony ventured quietly, his voice small and seemingly lost in the air between them.

Memories flashed in front of the hunter's eyes and he flinched. "I made a deal with the devil to save Sam. I was given a year...and at the end of the year, I was taken."

The agent was quiet for a long while before he sat forward, his uninjured arm resting on his knee. "Things like that happen? Deals with the devil?"

"All the time," Dean grunted, "or used to. Not sure how that's goin' down with the whole leadership change. They're called crossroad demons and they work for a contract holder demon...literally selling your soul."

Tony clenched and unclenched his fist as he mulled over what he'd been told, processing the impact it had on his expanding knowledge of the world he had been ignorant of. "Are you the only two who have ever escaped...from...?"

"Runs in the family, I guess." He smiled a humorless smile, his mind very much on the night they had finally killed Azazel. "Dad crawled out...when the devil's gate was opened...helped us defeat the demon that killed our mother." He sighed, spinning the liquor bottle in his hands. "Seems so long ago." He laughed bitterly. "God, Tony...I'm tired."

"Haven't you thought about...retiring, maybe?" the other man questioned sympathetically.

"All the damned time. There's no getting out of this job. You quit and the bad guys find you. At least this way, we have the upper hand. One day, something's gonna get us,...no arguing that. That'll be retirement." He stood, glancing along the empty road back toward Gibbs' house. "Let's keep this just between us, huh?"

"Dean!"

The strangled cry sent Dean spinning on his heel, turning back to the bench. His hand went instinctively to his waistband, searching for the gun that was usually there. He cursed as he found two men standing behind Tony, one holding the agent immobile as if ready to snap his neck.

"Fellas," he greeted, lowering his hands to his side, his eyes searching for tell-tale signs of who these men were. "Can I help you?"

The taller of the two men focused too-bright eyes on the hunter, his head cocking slightly to the side as if studying something insignificant. "Your sacrifice is required to raise our father. You will come with us."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was so predictable. He kicked himself again for leaving his gun behind and for walking instead of driving. "I don't think so, boys."

Tony grunted as the man holding him tightened his grip. His mind was racing, trying to work through the pain in his injured arm to throw the hold he was under.

"Come with us or he dies."

Tony's eyes locked with Dean's, a brief look of panic passing between them. The agent could see the fight going on in the hunter's mind and he shook his head, telling Dean to not give up. The hunter bit his lip, clenching his fists by his side.

"Alright," he finally conceded, holding his hands up in a submissive gesture. "You win. Just let him go."

The second man advanced toward him, all attention on Dean. Tony took the opportunity to throw himself out of the man's arms, wrenching himself free of the death grip he'd had on his arms. He immediately dropped, sweeping his legs out to topple his former captor. The body made a loud thud as the man's back found the ground and he gasped, winded.

Dean rushed the man approaching him, catching him about the middle and slamming him back into the bench, sending them both flipping over onto the grass behind it. Dean straddled the man, his fist connecting repeatedly with his face, trying to pummel him into unconsciousness. The other man had found his feet and rushed to his partner's aide, gripping Dean tightly, attempting to pull him away.

Tony instinctively reached for his own firearm, a loud curse falling from his lips. The only course of action was physical. Throwing caution to the wind, he rejoined the fight, his good fist connecting with the attacker behind Dean, knocking him backward.

The fight was violent and intense, slowly shifting in favor of Dean and Tony. Adrenaline gave them a boost of extra strength, their punches and kicks seeming to hit harder, doing more damage.

Panting, Dean fell back, having dropped one of the men. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, feeling cuts and blood across his skin. Scowling, he spit to the side, turning to find Tony. The agent seemed to be in no better shape, bleeding and bruised, stumbling away from the rather stocky man he'd been fighting. Dean reached out as Tony neared, steadying him as he swayed.

"You alright?" he asked gruffly, quickly scanning the other man's face.

Tony glanced around them, noting that their attackers had managed to find their feet again. "We need to get out of here. We need help."

Dean nodded, tightening his grip on his friend and pulling him down the sidewalk. The other men were just behind them and gaining ground. Amazingly, it seemed as if they hadn't taken a beating at all.

"Cas!" Dean managed, hoping to reach the angel for intervention. He wiped at his brow, catching the blood that threatened to flow into his eyes. "Cas, we're in trouble. Wake up." He threw a glance over his shoulder. The gap between them had almost closed. "Dammit, Cas, c'mon!"

"Dean?" Tony managed, his face taut in pain.

"Run," Dean managed, "don't look back."

The words had no sooner left his mouth than he found himself falling forward, tackled from behind. He found the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs causing him to cry out, gasping for air. A heavy weight settled over the top of him, pressing him into the ground and keeping him motionless. He tried to struggle, but the drop and lack of air had weakened him, making him sluggish.

"Dean!" Tony yelled, starting to move back toward his companion.

"Dammit, Tony, run!" Dean wheezed. He knew it was too late for him. His only chance was for Tony to make it back to Gibbs' house and rally the troops. Castiel obviously hadn't been able to rouse himself to rescue them. He was on his own. "Run!" The word tore from his body in a mighty yell.

One of the men drew back, landing a hard blow to the back of Dean's head, knocking him unconscious.

Tony locked his jaw, turning his attention forward, putting one foot in front of the other. His ears strained for sounds of pursuit behind him, but there was none. The men had gotten Dean, what they'd came for, and Tony was of no consequence.

His physical condition didn't allow for such strenuous activity, and the mile they'd traveled to the store seemed to take an eternity to run back. He tripped to the front door and managed to thrust the door open.

"Gibbs!" he panted, falling against the wall for support, still determinedly making his way to the kitchen. "Bobby? Anybody?"

The sound of sliding chairs on tile greeted his ears as those in the kitchen heard his return. In seconds, those who had gathered in the kitchen had ran out into the hallway.

"Tony?" Gibbs asked, rushing to the aide of his agent. He slid an arm around his waist, helping him into the kitchen.

"Where's Dean?" Bobby asked. "The hell happened?"

"We were ambushed," he panted, leaning forward against the table, his eyes closed. "Two men. We fought. They took him."

"Who?" Gibbs demanded.

"I dunno, boss." He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. "They said...he was needed for the sacrifice...to raise Odin."

Bobby cursed heartily, dragging his hand roughly down his cheek. "Gonna go get Sam. We don't have much time." He stalked from the kitchen and down the hall, leaving the agents alone.

"What now?" Tony asked, looking up expectantly at his boss, guilt written all over his face.

"I don't know, Tony," Gibbs said quietly, moving to the sink, gathering supplies to clean his agent's new cuts. "Don't worry. We'll get him back."

Tony bowed his head. _I hope so._

**tbc...**

_**A/N: I'm so sorry it took so long. I've rewritten this chapter so many times over the past couple of weeks and I'm definitely not happy with it, but I wanted to get something out to you. I hope you enjoy.**_


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thanks so much for the kind comments on the last chapter. I'm glad you all enjoyed. Welcome to all the newcomers. Adding me to your favorite story/authors brought a smile to my face.**

"You did _what?_" Sam demanded, his face pinched in anger. "How could you just...let them walk out like that? We're being _hunted_. That doesn't stop just because we won a small battle!" He paced through the kitchen, his hands on his hips.

"It was stupid, son, I know, but nothin' we woulda said woulda kept him here," Bobby sighed, his voice lined with exhaustion and slurred with alcohol.

Sam couldn't argue. He knew Dean was stubborn. He knew that Dean would have gone out regardless. "Go wake up Cas, Bobby. We can't wait. One sacrifice might be enough to raise Odin. We can't take that chance."

Raising unsteadily to his feet, the older hunter teetered out of the kitchen toward the living room, leaving an uncomfortably silent room in his wake.

"You'll have to stay here, Tony. You're in no shape to fight." Sam cast a sideways glance at the agent. The side of Tony's face had swelled from the repetitive hits he'd received. Sam knew the agent was probably missing sight in his left eye, and the way he was sitting showed that he was favoring his right hip. He'd be slow, a liability, and they'd risk losing him.

"Ordinarily, I'd argue with you," DiNozzo said gruffly, trying to relax in his seat, "but I can't even put weight on this leg to stand up."

Gibbs stood, moving to a far cabinet. He returned to the table with a small first aid kit that had been stocked by Ducky before the doctor had left. "Take these." Gibbs popped two small white pills into DiNozzo's hand, pain pills that would make him comfortable.

"Not sure that's wise, boss. You know how I get." He crossed his eyes and shook his head.

"Take 'em, DiNozzo. Don't look like we'll be here to deal with you." He waited for Tony to take the medicine before settling down beside him with antiseptic and bandages, cleaning the superficial cuts around his face, making sure they wouldn't be infected.

"What do you propose we do, Sam?" Ziva asked quietly from her seat in the corner.

"We make a battle plan," he stated. "We're going to get Dean _tonight_. The longer he's there, the less of a chance we have to rescue him. Hopefully they will be expecting us to wait and we'll have the element of surprise. If not...well, it'll be a Dean-special 'fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants' rescue." He paused his pacing, crossing his arms over his chest. "Stupid Dean. He _knew_ better."

"Sam?"

The deep voice from the doorway drew their attention to the angel that sagged weakly against the grizzled hunter that had been sent to fetch him.

"Cas." Sam managed a small smile at seeing the angel up. "Sorry to cut things short."

"I understand Dean has been captured," he stated simply.

Sam nodded. "Is there...a way to get you ready faster?"

"Raise Zerachiel."

Bobby lowered Castiel into a seat and backed out of the room again.

"There is a way, Sam. I used it before...when I sent you and your brother to the past for the phoenix." He propped himself against the table. "I must touch a human soul. It is pure energy and it will recharge me."

"I'll do it," a small voice said from the doorway. Abby stepped inside, her eyes resting on the angel. "I haven't really been able to help yet...and you guys need to go soon..."

"It is dangerous."

She waved her hand. "Danger means nothing now, right? It's either do or die. This is my choice."

The angel nodded once in her direction, seeing that she was set on helping any way she could. Abby wouldn't be able to join them where they were going.

"Zerachiel will need the same."

Tony grunted, raising his hand. "That would be me, I guess. Although, I'd like to know exactly how you plan on 'touching' my soul."

"Single most painful thing you'll ever live through...if they do it right," Bobby grumbled, depositing a groggy Zerachiel in the chair next to Castiel. "Someone will need to be here to take care of ya once we go."

"Whoa, Bobby, you're not going either," Sam objected.

"The Hell I'm not, boy," he exclaimed. "Think I'm gonna let you and your dumbass brother try to deal with this alone? Try an' stop me."

**tbc...**

**A/N: Set up chapter. Wanted to give you a little something while I had a minute or two of free time. Love you guys!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews. Yes, lol, the touching souls thing was a reference back to "Frontierland." I couldn't resist. The urge...it was just too strong. Thanks for being so patient with me and how long it takes me to post sometimes. The breaks are frustrating for me too. There will be a non-fanfic story coming out soon with all the juicy details. And now...for the continuation...**

"We'll need somethin' for them to, ya know, bite down on," Bobby said, "it'll keep them from screamin'. Don't wanna attract too much attention."

"Screaming?" Tony repeated unsteadily.

"Sober up," Sam ordered, nodding toward the two older men.

"Coffee's already on to brew," Gibbs answered.

"Screaming?" Tony asked again, a little more loudly than before.

"A belt should do. It's what I used." Bobby dropped an ancient book on the table in front of them. "This is all I have on Norse mythology. I'm not sure if it'll be much help."

"What can you tell us, Cas?" Sam questioned, turning to the angel.

"The only way into Asgard is across Bifrost, and it is guarded," he sighed. "Odin's body will most likely be in Gladsheim, his home. It will not be easy. He will be heavily guarded."

"What about Dean?"

"I have a feeling he will be bound near Yggdrasil, their tree of life."

"Hello?" Tony waved his good hand about. "Am I invisible here?"

"No, Tony," Bobby growled, "just tryin' to spare you the details." He cracked a sarcastic smile. "Hurts like hell, idjit."

"Oh, great." The subdued agent sunk back into his chair, his eyes passing between the two angels.

"The guard on the bridge can most likely be killed if his head is severed from his shoulders, but...should he see us coming, he will blow the Gjallarhorn and our advantage will be lost." Castiel shook his head as if to clear it. "Zerachiel and I will have to conserve our energy as much as possible."

"So, there'll be a lot of muscle work," Sam murmured, crossing his arms over his chest, his brow furrowed in thought. He nodded. "Okay."

"So, what do we need to do before we are ready to leave?" Ziva queried, her eyes resting on the book.

"We need...a god killer." The angel pushed himself to his feet. "Once I am recharged, I will fetch as many blessed stakes as I can find." He leveled a heavy gaze at the youngest Winchester. "Sam,...it may be necessary for you to...resort to the old ways."

"Cas,...no. I can't. I can't do that." The distaste that flavored his voice was unmistakable. "There has to be another way."

"Not if you want everyone to make it out of there alive. The stakes may not be enough. We would need the extra strength."

Sam stepped over next to the angel, unable to shake the feeling that everyone in the room was now staring at him. He lowered his voice dangerously, his eyes flashing in barely controlled anger. "You _cannot _ask me to do this, Castiel." He shifted, his fists clenching at his side. "You don't know what will happen if we open this door."

"And _you_ do not know what will happen if we _don't._" Castiel met his gaze evenly. "You are as strong as we are, if not more so when you are...juiced."

"_He's_ not fully gone yet, Cas."

Castiel grabbed the front of Sam's shirt, his face inches from the younger Winchester's face. "_Do you want to rescue your brother or not?_"

He ripped away from the grip of the angel, stalking away into the next room, the others only able to watch him go.

"What just happened?" Ziva asked, worried.

"How could you ask him to do that, Cas?" Bobby added, his voice rough in his own anger. "After everything that boy's been through. We'll find another way."

"There is no other way." The angel turned his attention to a very pale Abby. "Sam possesses the power that we need. Without that power, this will fail."

Gibbs nodded toward Ziva. "Go."

Without another word, she pushed herself out of her chair and followed after Sam. She found him pacing the width of the living room, his hands planted firmly on his hips, his face a white mask of rage and, oddly, helplessness. He was conflicted, the internal battle clearly evident.

She watched him for a long while before moving to the couch, quietly taking a seat. As he paced by her again, she reached for his hand, halting his pacing and pulling him down next to her. Reluctantly, he settled facing her, allowing her to settle with her legs about his waist, holding him in place. The intimate contact seemed to have an instant sedating effect and the anger flowed from him, leaving only the helplessness behind.

"What is Castiel asking of you, Sam?" she questioned softly, taking his hands in her own.

"He...he wants..._needs_ me to...drink demon blood," he sighed.

"So you can become powerful like before...when you faced Lucifer, yes?" Her tone was gentle, urging him to talk to her.

"Yes." He felt her hands tighten around his. "I'm scared, Ziva. My abilities have been dormant since that day at the graveyard, and I can still _feel_ Lucifer," he rubbed his temple, "in my head."

She nodded slowly, "and you are afraid that his influence will take over if you go down this road again."

"Or...I might not have the power anymore." He rested his forehead against hers, suddenly weary. "Either way,...I let the team down. If I still have it and Lucifer takes over, then I'll kill everybody and this whole thing will fail. Odin will come back to life and...it'll all be over."

She ran her fingers through his hair and down his back before pulling him into a tight hug, nuzzling against the nape of his neck. She breathed in his scent, a slight smile playing across her lips.

"What is it?" he asked, feeling the shift against his skin. The situation was certainly nothing to warrant a smile.

"Do you know what I feel right now?" she returned, gripping the back of his shirt as she hugged him tighter. "I feel safe and warm, and happy...and I know beyond any doubt...that _this _Sam would not let anything happen to me, regardless of the situation he found himself in." She exhaled contentedly.

Faith. It hit him hard. Someone had faith in him. Pure, unadulterated trust without a hint of doubt. There had been no one to show him that for a very long time. While Dean had always counted on him to have his back, he'd not trusted him for a very long time. Dean had even told him as much.

He took her by the shoulders, moving until he could look into her eyes again. "Can you _honestly_ deal with me drinking _demon blood_?"

She took a long moment to carefully choose her words, careful to keep any doubt from showing. "I do not know," she answered, a sad smile touching her lips. She gently cupped his cheek in her warm hand, her thumb caressing his jawline. "I do not know how it will effect me, Sam, but...I do know that we are facing a mountain...and when you face a mountain, you take every tool you have. If this means success is more likely, then I will find a way to deal with...whatever I may feel."

Her words shocked him as much as her actions did. This woman was strange and wonderful, and a long awaited change. He shook his head. "Is everything always so black and white with you?"

She chuckled. "It is a hazard of the job, I am afraid." A genuine smile lit her face. "I have been known to play in the gray area too...and _that_ is the hazard of working with Gibbs." Her smile faded a bit, replaced by an intensity that left him winded. "We are counting on you, Sam, to lead us and to bring us _all_ back home."

Those words seemed to awaken something in him, something he'd always left to Dean. The need to lead had never really made itself known, and it made him feel important. He pressed a kiss to Ziva's forehead. "Thank you."

**00008675390000**

"How do you think it's going in there?" Gibbs asked, pouring another steaming mug of coffee and settling down next to Bobby, who was engrossed in the book.

"Well, no yelling," the grizzled hunter replied, "so I guess it's going alright." He held his place, looking over at the team leader. "You might wanna find someone with a little medical knowledge to be here when the angels recharge themselves."

"Got it." He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, speed dialing Ducky.

**00008675390000**

"What happened, Dr. Mallard?" the young medical assistant asked, pulling on the latex gloves as he looked over the bodies that crowded the autopsy room. "I haven't heard any news...of a...of a massacre."

"Relax, young Mr. Palmer," Ducky answered, "I'm afraid this isn't for you. I have...another job for you." He gestured his assistant over to the desk, motioning for him to take a seat. "Are you a religious man, Mr. Palmer?"

The younger man sank into the indicated seat, his eyes nervously darting back and forth between the doctor and the bodies that seemed to occupy every inch of the room. "I...I...sort of. I mean, yeah, I guess. It depends...it depends on what you mean. Was this...?"

"No, no, no..." Ducky waved his hand dismissively. "What I'm about to tell you is of utmost importance...and the fact that I'm trusting you at all means that you can't divulge this information to anyone but those involved. Do you understand me?"

Palmer's eyes widened, but he nodded.

"Gibbs' team is involved in something that goes higher than the government. That is where all these bodies came from." The M.E. sighed. "It may be difficult for you to believe, but most of the females that lay over there are Valkyries."

"Like...?"

"Yes." The doctor smiled sadly.

"I'm sorry, doctor, but that's...impossible."

"I thought much the same, Mr. Palmer." He held up a pendant on a leather chain. "This is called a Valknut, the 'knot of the slain' worn by the Valkyries." He laid the pendant in Palmer's hand. "At this very moment, Gibbs' team is in need of a medical professional, and while I would normally be the one to go, I am needed here."

"What happened?"

"I need you to pay attention, Mr. Palmer. Gibbs' team is working on a case that NCIS has not authorized. That's because they are working with two men called hunters, men who are on the run from the law."

Palmer held up his hand, silencing his mentor. "I don't understand. Why would Gibbs be working..."

As fond as he was of telling stories, he found necessity sped his words as he spilled the information of all that had happened to a speechless and increasingly nervous young man. He spared no detail, bringing his assistant fully into the fold. "Now listen. The angels are waiting to perform a very risky procedure on young Abigail and Anthony. Gibbs would like someone there in case something goes wrong. I simply cannot leave. You are the only person I trust with this job, Mr. Palmer, and I need you to leave now." He placed his own medical bag into Palmer's lap.

"I...I...I...Dr. Mallard, I can't...this can't be..." he stammered.

"Go. I have no time for your insecurities right now, Jimmy. Castiel will handle your questions from here." He pulled Palmer from his seat and shoved him toward the door. "And hurry. Time is of the utmost importance."

**tbc...**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Welcome to all the new adds and thank you for the awesome reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. (Reading over it now, there's a part or two that reads like a clumsy sex scene. I apologize, LOL). An update so soon? NO WAY.**

Gibbs excused himself from the kitchen, carefully removing Abby's hold on his hand to open the front door. He stepped back to let a very apprehensive and cautious Jimmy Palmer move past. He stopped, worrying the handle of the medical bag that Ducky had given him, jumping as Gibbs shut the door and locked it behind them.

"Listen, Agent Gibbs,...Dr. Mallard said some very strange things, then gave me this bag, and asked me to come over here," he nervously adjusted his glasses. "He said something about Valkyries, and...and hunters, and angels. I'm not sure that he's okay."

Gibbs said nothing, only leveling him one of his trademarked stares as he waited for him to talk himself down.

"I mean, unless...unless he is okay...and all of this is...real." He swallowed nervously. "Is this...real, Agent Gibbs?"

The agent nodded toward the kitchen. "It's real, Palmer."

"Oh." He drug his hand across his face, trying to still the shaking. "So, um...what is it you need me to do?"

"C'mon." He took the lead, stepping into the kitchen where everyone had gathered to hear Bobby give them a briefing on what he'd read.

They looked up as the two joined them, everyone falling silent.

"Hey-ey, it's the Gremlin!" Tony exclaimed, his words slightly slurred.

"Everyone, this is Jimmy Palmer, Ducky's assistant," Gibbs said by way of introduction. "Palmer, this is Sam, Bobby, Castiel, and Zerachiel running around in McGee's body."

"Hi," Palmer managed.

"Great. We can get started," Bobby said, sliding the book back away from the edge of the table.

"What do you need me to do?" Palmer asked.

"Gonna need you to look after the kids while we're gone," Gibbs retorted, nodding toward Tony and Abby.

"Gone? Gone where?"

Sam looked up, "Asgard."

"We are wasting valuable time now. We should get them moved so we can begin." Castiel, looking very ill, had returned to a chair. Both angels were in dire need of assistance.

"I suggest a bed." Bobby stood, offering his hand to Abby. "You're a very brave girl, Abby Sciuto."

She smiled nervously, standing up beside him.

Sam moved, hauling Tony up beside him as gingerly as he could, sliding an arm around his waist for support.

"Thanks, Gigantor," Tony grunted, "no chance that was happenin' otherwise."

"Gave Tony pain pills, huh?" Palmer asked, following the crowd as they headed down the hallway.

"Kinda obvious, isn't it, Grem-i-lin?" Tony called over his shoulder. "I tried to warm 'em!"

Bobby shook his head. "Kid's so much like Dean it ain't funny."

Gibbs cracked a half-smile. "Probably a good thing they haven't met before, then."

"I'll second that."

They let themselves into the bedroom that Abby had shared with McGee. Abby went immediately to the left side of the bed, watching Sam settle Tony against the headboard on the right side of the bed. Having the two of them in the same room would make monitoring them much easier.

Castiel settled on the bed beside Abby; Zerachiel settled next to DiNozzo. Each took a mirrored grip on the headboard, a way to keep themselves steady. Cas looked into Abby's eyes, making sure she was ready.

"I am sorry that I had to make use of you like this," he said quietly. "Thank you for giving willingly."

She nodded, her hands fisting in the quilt top. "Let's get this over with. We've got a man to rescue."

Tony reached over, taking one of her hands in his own. He was the big brother, being brave and comforting his little sister.

"What's...what's going on?" Palmer asked, his wide eyes taking in the scene in front of them.

"The angels are recharging," Bobby explained. "It's called 'soul touching.'"

In simultaneous motions, the angels moved forward, a small glow seeming to begin between their hands and the midsections of their "batteries." The glow intensified and it seemed that the angels plunged their hands inside the bodies, immediately eliciting blood-chilling screams.

Sam had to hold Ziva back, keeping her from rushing to her partner's side. The agents could only watch in horror at what was happening. Palmer had paled beyond white, his jaw slack.

"Look away!" Sam warned, pulling Ziva against his chest as the light became blinding, filling the room.

It took a while for the light to ebb away, making the ambient light in the room seem almost too dim. Those gathered blinked the moisture from their tearing eyes, squinting toward the bed.

"Forgot the damn belts," Bobby mumbled, cursing under his breath.

"Neighbors won't think too much of it," Gibbs assured, "there's trouble here more than I care to tell."

"Tony?" Ziva pushed away from Sam, stumbling toward the bed.

Castiel caught her, stepping away from the bed. The angels seemed to glow a soft golden aura, their wounds healed and strength renewed. The agent looked up at him in awe.

Gibbs pushed Palmer forward, startling him out of his stupor. He made his way quickly to Abby's side, checking her vitals as Sam moved to Tony, doing the same. Both were breathing, their faces pinched in pain, slumped over against each other on the bed.

"Your friends will be fine," Castiel asserted, leading Ziva back to the group gathered at the door, "let them rest."

Sam reluctantly moved away from the bed, allowing Palmer to take over. He moved to stand beside Castiel, his body tensed as he waited for the question he knew was coming next.

Castiel didn't disappoint. "Sam...?

The younger Winchester held up his hand, silencing the question on the angel's lips. He could feel the others staring at him, aware that someone had let it slip at what Castiel had asked him to do. "This is dangerous, Cas. You know that."

"I do."

"If...something goes wrong...you kill me before I'm able to hurt anyone." He stared his friend down, leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, Castiel nodded.

"What?" Bobby erupted, his face reddening. "The hell do you think you're doin', boy? We _lost_ you last time? Remember that? Dean will kick your ass from here to Tuesday when he finds out."

"It's not his choice, Bobby. It's mine." He cut off the older hunter's objections. "We're down a hunter, Bobby, and it's too risky bringing someone else in. Cas is right. I don't have a choice. It has to be done."

Outraged, Bobby moved quickly, standing toe to toe with the angel they had long considered a friend and ally. "I don't know what game you're playin', and frankly, I don't give a damn about any ulterior motives you've got brewin' in that head o' yours," his voice was low and dangerous, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "So help me God if anything happens to him, I'll have your head." Before Castiel could speak, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room, leaving a wake of rage behind him.

Sam turned to Zerachiel. "I'll need a lot. Bring them to the basement. I'll make the trap."

The second angel nodded, disappearing from the room.

"Go, Cas. Get the stakes. I'll handle what needs to be done here."

With the angels gone, there was a sense of uneasiness that seemed to creep into the room, infusing into their skin. Sam offered Ziva a small smile, trying to relay confidence that he didn't truly feel.

"You should rest, eat...We'll be leaving soon." He excused himself, sliding past the senior team leader.

"This is one twisted mess," Gibbs sighed.

"I know." Ziva's voice was small and her eyes still rested on the door as if expecting Sam to step back in. "This...is all so strange." She slowly turned back to the bed, taking quiet steps toward her partner.

"He's fine," Palmer offered, "they both are...sort of. I mean...they'll live. Heart rate is a little low, though I'd expect that after that...whatever just happened. I'll start IVs and get some adrenaline shots prepped. After that, it should just be monitoring side effects." He opened the medical bag, rummaging through the supplies and murmuring to himself. Slowly, he pulled a manila envelope from the side of the bag, his lips mouthing the name written on the front. "Oh, Agent Gibbs...I guess Ducky wanted you to have this."

Gibbs took the envelope from him, peeling it open. He shook a pendant from inside, looking over it with interest. Palmer eyed the pendant, recognizing the symbol.

"Ducky said that's called a Valknut...worn by the Valkyries. They were on the bodies brought into autopsy."

Gibbs nodded slowly, returning the pendant to the envelope. "Good work, Palmer." He moved to the bed, pressing a fatherly kiss to Abby's forehead before turning to leave.

Jimmy couldn't help but smile.

**tbc...**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Welcome to the new readers and thank you all so much for the encouraging reviews. Consider this a belated Christmas present. I apologize that this took so long to put up. I hope it was worth waiting for. Love you guys!**

Dean groaned, blinking against the too-bright light that streamed into the room. He tried to bring a hand to his head to check for lumps and blood, but found himself stopped short, bindings tight about his wrists. Half-aware, he cursed, scooting back until he found a wall, using the steady surface to situate himself to a sitting position.

It was a long while before steady vision returned, and his eyes teared at the offending light. He attempted to study his surroundings, beginning to recall the events that had led to his captivity. Another curse fell from his lips. He'd been reckless and stupid. Even with Tony by his side, it had been folly to travel away from the safe house on foot.

"I'm gettin' too old for this," he grumbled, his eyes attempting to seek out something he could use to free himself.

The room was large and sparsely furnished, leaving ample room for Dean to be bound out of reach of anything useful. The walls were lined with rich tapestries, seeming to depict the story of the Nordic gods, from the birth of the Jotun to the resurrection of Odin. The walls beneath seemed to be made of gold, something that caused Dean to pause. He had no idea where he was and his knowledge of Nordic mythology was incredibly limited. He could only assume that he was trapped somewhere in Asgard, and even if he should escape, he had no idea how to get back home without being found out.

He sighed. His only option would be to wait for whatever came first. Either his brother would come to rescue him or he would be sacrificed, and the latter was looking far more likely than the first.

Feeling queasy, he dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, for the first time since losing his brother to the pit, feeling helpless and alone.

**000086753090000**

Ziva slowly descended the stairs to the basement, hearing the faint murmuring of several voices traveling up the passageway. They dropped away as her feet found bottom, and she found Bobby standing inches away from Sam, a look of tension and anger written across his aging face. It was clear that they'd been locked in an intense conversation only seconds before.

Bobby nodded in her direction and she offered him a small, apologetic shrug for the interruption, careful not to say or suggest anything that would bring the conversation up again. She knew Sam wouldn't have agreed to go back to the way things were before if he didn't have a good reason, and she knew that if she had drawn that conclusion, Bobby would have too. After all, the older hunter was practically a father to the brothers, from what she was able to tell.

Curiosity had drawn her down the stairs. While she was apprehensive of what Sam's world was like, she found herself excited by the possibilities. She'd seen and experienced much in her life, things she had no explanation for. Things now made much more sense to her. Meeting the Winchester brothers had opened her eyes, and there was no going back to the way things used to be.

Now, there was something else for her to learn. On the ceiling, a large star had been painted, odd symbols dispersed around the circle drawn around to connect the corners. Bobby laid his paint aside, motioning for her to come closer. He pointed to an open book on Gibbs' workbench, showing her a sketching of what had been painted on the ceiling.

"May come in handy for you someday," he offered. "It's called a devil's trap. Unless it's broken, demons can't work their way out of it." He laid his hand across the book. "This'll stay with your team when we leave...not gonna leave you unprotected after we kinda opened Pandora's box for ya'll."

"I hope we do not have use for it," a small smile turned up the corner of her mouth, "but thank you."

He nodded, turning back to Sam. "What else do we need, son?"

Sam stepped down off the small ladder he'd been using, raking his sweat-dampened hair back out of his eyes. "Should be it, Bobby. Just gotta wait now."

The older hunter glanced toward the stairs and wiped his hands roughly against the fabric of his jeans. "Look, about earlier..." he met the younger hunter's eyes, a brief moment of understanding passing between them, "I support ya, Sam. I always have."

"I know, Bobby." He bowed his head. "I didn't wanna go back there, but I've gotta save Dean. If this is the only way, then it's the only way." A moment of silence passed before he spoke again. "He'd do the same for me."

"It's in the Winchester blood," Bobby grunted. He'd watched the brothers sacrifice themselves repeatedly for each other. He'd watched John do the same. It was a vicious, never-ending cycle. "No matter what happens, son, I'll be right behind ya, just like I always am."

They shared a tight hug before stepping apart. Sam remained in the basement as Bobby made his way up the stairs, leaving the young hunter alone with Ziva in the ill-lit basement.

"I did not mean to interrupt," she said quietly, taking a seat on one of the unused sawhorses. "I find all of this more interesting than I should."

"Curiosity isn't a bad thing," he replied. "You'd made a good hunter. The instinct is there."

"I feel as if I am just now seeing the world for what it truly is," she confessed. "There have been many horrible things happen in my life that I have had no explanation for. I have been with people who have done bad things, and I have done such things myself. I am not an innocent in this struggle of good and evil."

He took a seat near her.

"I was an assassin, Sam. It was not until I met Gibbs and began to work for NCIS that I began to develop a conscience. I have struggled since then and I have had many set backs, but this team...this team has offered me what my father never could. While I may still have several attempts on my life and an occasional 'forced' relocation, I do not live as I used to. I understand the importance of being free to choose which path needs to be taken."

He felt a rush of guilt at having made assumptions about her past, and it showed clearly on his face.

"I never lied to you, Sam," she met his eyes with a steady gaze. "I realize it is important not to judge people on who they used to be, but who they are trying to be now. While I may not have fallen down the same path you did, I have done things in my life that I am not proud of, and I have seen the effects of evil in my life." She could not stop the memories that flooded into her mind, the images of Somalia and the hopelessness that she felt. She had expected to die there in that compound. She had been ready to die.

"Ziva?" he questioned gently.

"I have turned into a stranger to myself." She shook her head. "The woman I was before would not speak to you in this way. I would not allow myself the familiarity or the weakness."

"It's not weakness," he objected.

A quiet chuckle dropped from her lips. "I suppose not." She leaned back against the wall. "I suppose the point I was trying to make...was that if one of my team was in the same situation your brother was in, I would have no trouble going back to my old habits. They served me well when I needed them, and they will serve me well should I need them again." She paused. "You should not feel guilty for doing what you must."

"I feel more guilty for agreeing to take you and Gibbs along." He rubbed his palm roughly against the newly grown stubble on his cheek. "Putting innocents in danger has always been my biggest complaint with this job."

"We are willing to go. Ending this is the only way to get McGee back." She found her eyes returning to the devil's trap on the ceiling. "Is that thing going to work?"

'Hasn't failed yet. Sometimes it gets broken, but," he shrugged, "doesn't happen often." He pushed himself upright, once again finding himself too focused on the task at hand. The burden of his choice weighed heavily on him. "Don't worry. You'll be safe."

"What do demons look like?" she asked. "How can you tell when someone is possessed?"

"All you see before possession is black smoke forcing its way into your body. It doesn't change how you look at all. You can only tell if you can get them to show themselves...it's their eyes that give them away."

She was quiet for a long while, seeming to retreat into her own thoughts. When she spoke again, it was with a question he had hoped she wouldn't ask. "Sam, do you think that it is possible that I have had experiences with demons before?"

Shattering someone's future was a completely different experience than shattering what they had believed to be their past. "I won't say no," he finally offered, "but there's no way I could know." He moved to stand in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "It's better not to think about it. Remember your life like you do now. It seems like you've already lived through enough without adding the supernatural into the mix."

Clamoring sounded behind them, several odd grunts and angry yells drawing their attention to the center of the basement. Castiel and Zerachiel had returned, each with three people in their grasp. They pushed their prisoners forward, trapping them in the confines of the devil's trap.

Sam's eyes came to rest on the one closest to them, resolving himself. "You probably don't need to be here for this."

"Sam..."

"I said _go_."

Reluctantly, she nodded, swung her legs forward, and retreated up the stairs, her mind already knowing what would happen.

**tbc...**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Thanks so much, you guys. You all rock. Your continued interest keeps me writing. I'm glad to see that you enjoyed the last little blurb...and yes, I did enjoy my Christmas. I hope each of you had a very Merry Christmas as well. **

All worries of no longer possessing the power that the blood of the yellow-eyed demon had given him fled as Sam felt energy surge through him, the blood passing his lips, filling his mouth, and draining slowly down his throat. It was bitter, just as he remembered, and he shuddered at what he was doing, but he had missed the power. As much as he fought being different, this was his drug, his addiction, and it had been too long since he'd felt so strong.

Everything came into focus; he could hear his heart pounding loudly in his ears. His muscles strained against his shirt and his nostrils flared as he breathed deeply, draining the first body of its precious life force. The first cut had been hard, realizing that the victim was still very much human, but necessity fueled him. With demon blood already giving him strength, the second kill was negligible, even easy, and he greedily lapped at the blood that poured from the open wound.

It didn't take long for him to finish what he'd started, tossing the last dead body aside for disposal. He was at his peak, where he'd been when he faced Lucifer, agreeing to be the vessel. Energized, he pushed himself to his feet, turning slowly to face the angels that had watched his feeding. He shrugged his shoulders, rolling his neck to hear the satisfying pop that came from the tension release. Every sense was heightened.

"Get these things out of here," he ordered, his voice slightly deeper than it had been. He toed the nearest body, looking down at it in distaste. "Pathetic." He turned his back on the scene, wiping the blood from his face, not waiting to see if the angels followed his order. "We'll be upstairs. We leave in half an hour." He took the stairs two at a time, pausing at the top to inhale deeply through his nose, composing himself. While he felt incredible, he knew that this wasn't who he was supposed to be. He was at war with himself.

Shaking his head, he started down the hall and to the kitchen where he knew the others would be gathered around the book, gathering what little information they could from its pages. All they had was speculation at this point. Not even Castiel had traveled to Asgard before.

Sam stopped in the doorway, his arrival drawing all attention away from the aged tome.

"Is it over then?" Bobby growled. "Stupid question. Can tell by yer eyes."

"Cas will be back in a few minutes. Get ready to leave."

Gibbs poured another steaming mug of coffee, studying the younger Winchester over the lip as he took a thoughtful drink. To his trained, investigative eye, it only seemed as if the younger man had taken an upper. His pupils were larger and he seemed to carry himself differently, standing taller, seemingly ready for a fight.

Ziva made her own observations, aware of the more subtle changes. She'd made a study of this man over the past weeks, familiarizing herself with his natural self. It was easy to pick out the differences. They were drastic. His shoulders were straight, making his chest seem even larger as it strained against the button-down shirt he wore. He was intimidating and confident, something that she'd only seen from him in combat. Normal Sam Winchester was a force to be reckoned with, but the improved version was monstrous. Scary. Intoxicating.

He pulled out a chair, turning it around and sliding easily into the waiting seat, crossing his arms and resting them on the back. He took a long moment to look over the team he'd be taking into battle. It was difficult to separate his true feelings from the rush of adrenaline-fueled disdain that always seemed to accompany consuming demon blood. He wasn't himself, and he knew that. It took a great deal of effort for him to suppress the feeling of superiority, maintaining a semblance of the Sam that these people knew.

Castiel reappeared at his side, "It is done." He looked around the table, waiting for Zerachiel to join them. "The only way in is across the Bifrost. We will face Heimdall. Of that, there is no question." He paused, allowing his words time to sink in. "Do not take time to think. Instinct will greatly increase your chances of survival. If you are injured, find a place to hide. When this is over, we will find you."

Gibbs crossed his arms, leveling a steady stare at the angel. "And when this is over, I get my agent back." It wasn't a question.

"We will see what can be done."

"That's not good enough." Gibbs voice was low, dangerous, and chilling. "My team has given enough. You _will_ return McGee to us,...cured and fit for duty, or we," he gestured toward Ziva, "will stay here, and you can find yourself another team."

Castiel was silent for a long moment, his normally expressionless face belying the thoughts flying through his mind. A small look of defeat darkened his eyes before he brushed it away, nodding slightly. With no further words, he gestured toward the living room, indicating that they should gather together.

Bobby lifted two heavy bags, passing one to Sam as they left the kitchen, gathering around the two angels. Sam pulled one of the blessed stakes from his bag, nodding to Castiel and reaching out to place his hand on the angel's shoulder. He watched the others follow his lead from the corner of his eye.

"This is it," Bobby muttered, taking a deep breath.

**000086753090000**

Dean sighed. No one had been in to check on him since he'd woken up. It had been hours. Idly, he wondered what the team was up to, whether Tony had made it back to the house to warn the others of the ambush. Surely someone would have discovered what was going on by now. He could hear sounds outside the room he was in, but no one darkened the door, leaving him completely alone.

Hunger made his stomach growl irritably and he silently cursed not having the foresight to grab a bite to eat. At the time, alcohol had seemed more important. He couldn't help but chuckle. With the way things were, alcohol _was_ more important.

It wasn't long before his thoughts turned again to a life outside of hunting. No hunter quit the hunting life. Hunters died before they got out. Entire families were obliterated. His own family had suffered so much. Sam and Bobby were all he had left. They were coming for him. They were putting themselves in harms way, yet again, yet another brick in the roadway of danger they all walked every single day.

Voices joined the sounds outside, a barked order that sent footsteps scrambling away. Dean shook himself from his thoughts, his eyes snapping toward the door, seeking out the shadows that passed by the crack between the door and the floor. Two shadows, probably feet, indicating there was one person readying to come in to his holding chambers. He tried his best to look relaxed, but his body was tensed, waiting for the first opportunity for flight.

The door swung slowly open, and Dean couldn't help but stare in amazement, all thoughts of escape fleeing his mind.

_**tbc...**_

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, folks, and sorry this is so short! I've been on vacation! Also, sorry for the messy cliffy. I just wanted to get something out to you guys today! Welcome to all the newbies. Glad to see you all here.**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: You guys are great! Thank you to my faithful followers and to the new readers as well. I'm glad to see and hear that you all are enjoying. I am announcing that this story is winding down. There will probably only be a chapter or two following this one. (Don't hold me to that, though...my plans change quite often).**

It was impossible for Dean to hide the blatant look of surprise on his face, his eyes traveling up the slender form of the young black woman who stood in the door way. Even dressed in Nordic god finery, it was impossible to mistake her identity. His mind filled with images of the Elysian Fields Hotel, where he and Sam had been forced to stop in the middle of a biblical deluge.

"Kali?" he murmured in question, clearly confused. He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the bindings about his wrists, bringing himself to her level as she took slow steps into the room, her expression, as always, one of disdain.

A small smirk touched her lips as she came to stand close to Dean, her eyes boring into his as if she were searching his soul. "I didn't take you for the stupid type, Dean. That agent you were with was hardly protection in his condition."

"Kali, what the hell is going on?" he managed more forcefully, pushing his confusion aside. "Why are you in Viking Central, huh? You know what these people are trying to do to me and Sam."

"Yes, I do," she replied, reaching her left hand into her right sleeve where a small pocket had been sewn. The delicate silk fabric showed her movements, her slender fingers closing over what looked like vials. She drew them forth, holding them in her outstretched palm.

Dean recognized them instantly. Blood. His blood...and Sam's. It was the blood Mercury had taken from them, the blood that bound them by blood spell to Kali. His eyes traveled from the small vials back to Kali's face, searching out her eyes. "We saved you! We took you from that hotel after Lucifer _slaughtered_ your god friends."

"Yes, you did," she agreed, "and it was then that I realized what I had to do...what I had to do to restore order to the world." The vials disappeared and she took a step back, the golden silk that draped across her body shifting with the movement, settling to cling to her curves. "Lucifer destroyed _dynasties_. Do you understand that? Those gods he killed are worshipped by millions. He erased the figure-heads of religions older than the Judeo-Christians that took followers away from us. I, alone, survived the massacre of those gathered in that dreadful place. I was the only one who understood."

"So that gives you the right to slaughter innocents?" he spat, straining against his bonds.

"It's sacrifice, Dean," she returned, waving a hand in dismissal. "I am the Destroyer. In the time since I have existed, many more have died by my hand at one time than those that have been chosen to resurrect the dead gods."

It took a moment for the full effect of her words to hit him. "Wait," his brows creased, "dead gods? You mean, this isn't just about Odin?"

A scornful laugh dropped from her lips. "Odin?" Her eyes narrowed. "You mortals. Your sight is so limited." She gestured around her. "This place is...guarded...convenient. Consider Asgard the headquarters, as you humans so aptly name your base of operations." She took a few pacing steps, much like a teacher preparing to lecture. "Do you truly know the power that one soul contains? A human soul is the most pure form of energy in the universe. It _feeds_ our power, Dean. You saw but a very small fraction of the sacrifices that our servants have carried out in our names. This was _world-wide_." She smiled, giving Dean a clear view of why she was called the Destroyer. "Thousands of human souls," she mused, stepping back to Dean, running her finger lightly along his jawline, "prepared to raise the dead gods tonight."

Dean felt dread settle over him. Odin was just one piece of the puzzle, meant to distract them, meant to make them feel more secure, as if there was hope.

"Oh, I know, Dean. I know. I am _truly_ grateful to you and your brother for aiding my escape. I also know that Sam will not wait to save you. The need to save you will drive him to haste, and that's what I'm counting on. We are well prepared here. We have been since before we set the sacrifices in motion. You and your brother, you are the final pieces of the puzzle, the ultimate sacrifices. Michael's vessel and Lucifer's vessel...two very powerful souls made even more powerful by the greatness you have achieved as mere mortals. Without you, the world would be in oblivion already."

"What do you plan to do once you off Sam and me, huh? What's the end game here? Why bring back all these dead gods?"

"My companionship with Baldur aside," she swept herself back toward the door, "I need them. Don't worry, though, Dean...your service to me has not been forgotten. I will ensure that you and your brother do not suffer." She stood, framed in the doorway.

"What are you planning to do?" he demanded hotly.

"Vendetta," she responded coolly, "a return to a world before Christianity. We will take back what was once ours. We _will_ rebuild the world." She turned on her heel and vanished, the door closing in her wake, leaving Dean standing alone in an empty room, her final words echoing through his mind.

For the first time that he could remember, he felt beyond weak. A helplessness like what had filled him when he'd lost Sam to the pit flooded every inch of his being. Because of his stupidity, his team was walking directly into a trap. Two angels, a hunter, and a mismatch of government agents were the only hope that stood between survival and the destruction of millions, an entire religion. He sagged against the wall, sliding until his backside found the hard, unforgiving floor.

Helplessness was soon replaced by anger. Castiel couldn't have been blind to the bigger picture. Cas might have been a child when it came to human interaction and emotion, but he knew and understood war and strategy. If that were true, the angel that he trusted when he trusted none other had double-crossed them, and for what agenda that would be, Dean had no idea.

The anger fueled him and forced him to focus. He needed to escape. Somehow, he needed to tip the balance. Kali believed that she had everything under control. He needed to throw a wrench into the operation, and he needed to do it soon. It wouldn't be long, he calculated, before Sam would be leading the charge into Asgard.

He tugged at the chains that bound him to the wall, inspecting the links for any sign of weakness. As he had feared, it was solid craftsmanship. There would be no hope for breaking the links without a blowtorch, and he had a sneaking suspicion that those would be in short supply in the home of the gods.

There was nothing of use in the room, and even had there been, his leash was short. There was nothing within a few feet of him anyway. He had only one option, and he didn't know if he had enough strength to pull it off.

"Hey!" he called. "You gonna keep the ultimate sacrifice from taking a leak?" He waited. "_Hey!_"

Moments later, the door swung open and two armored guards filed in, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. One barked an order and a young girl, wearing little more than a sheet, scurried in, carrying a large brass pot. She sat it on the floor in front of Dean, not daring to cast a glance his way, bowing awkwardly before fleeing the room.

"Piss pot," the tallest grunted, motioning to the other as they started to leave.

"Fellas, fellas," Dean chuckled. "Look, these chains are a little...ya know...can't reach where I need to. Unless you wanna hold it," he looked down, then shook his right hand, rattling the chain, "I need at least one hand."

The shorter of the two guards exchanged a heavy glance with what was obviously his superior. They'd obviously been told to expect something from Dean.

"Look, I've been drinking and knocked unconscious. I don't know how long it's been since I've hit the head. Now, I'm not exactly looking forward to this whole sacrifice thing, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna be marched through the streets smelling like a freakin' urinal."

The guards turned back toward him, one falling back and drawing his sword while the other pulled a set of ancient keys from his belt, stepping toward Dean. The message was clear without anything having to be said.

The key slid into the lock with ease and the cuff clinked as it released and swung back against the wall. Dean struggled one-handed with the button on his jeans, making eye contact with the guard who stood nearest to him.

"You guys gonna watch?"

Reluctantly, they turned around, the one further away sheathing his sword, satisfied that Dean's need had been legitimate. The seasoned hunter knew he had only seconds to carry out his hastily pieced together plan.

He reached down, grabbing the closest handle of the pot, heaving it up and swinging it with as much force as he could muster, slamming it into the head of the guard who had freed him. The man crumbled, unconscious on the floor. The remaining soldier reacted instinctively, spinning on his heel and drawing his sword, rushing at Dean with murder in his eyes. Quickly, the hunter raised the pot to his chest like a shield, the sword grazing along the side to bite deeply into his bicep. A strangled curse fell from his lips as he dropped the pot, grabbing the hilt of the sword.

A battle of strength ensued, Dean quickly weakening. He hadn't eaten and he was losing blood; pain was darkening his concentration. Thinking quickly, he drove his elbow into the unprotected face of his opponent, breaking his nose, causing the man to stumble backward. Dean wrenched the sword from his hand, driving the heavy blade forward, piercing the man in the chest.

His attacker stumbled backward and fell. Dean immediately set to retrieving the keys, sliding them under his foot until he could move to pick them up. The final chain fell away and he rubbed at his chapped wrists, reveling in the freedom.

Reality quickly set back in and he dragged the two men over to the chains, restraining them. Their weapons were quickly removed, the keys finding the far corner of the room. Satisfied he was safe for the moment, he sat back on his heels, shrugging off his jacket and shirt to view the damage done to his arm. He had to stem the blood flow. The cut was deep and oozing freely. He tore a strip off of his shirt, wrapping it tightly around his bicep, using his teeth to help him tie the knot that would hold the make-shift bandage in place.

He began sorting through the weapons, arming himself for battle. Silently, he vowed that he wouldn't allow his brother and the innocents to walk into the trap without a fight. He cracked the door, peeking out into the hallway, surprised to find it clear. In seconds, he was closing the door behind him, moving in the direction he'd seen Kali turn before the door had closed on her.

He realized he was in a large home, but he hadn't been kept far from the main door. The way he'd chosen opened up into a large foyer. The door leading out sat just across from him. He took a deep breath, listened for any sounds throughout the house, and propelled himself forward, ducking out the front door.

**tbc...**

**A/N: I KNOW I'M A STINKER. BWAHAHAHA.**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Glad to see the last chapter was so well received. Yes, we're winding down now, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the ride. Welcome, as always, to the new readers and adds, and, as always, thanks to my faithful few!**

Sam didn't hesitate as they found themselves standing in front of a tall man clad in golden armor, a sword at his side. Figuring this was the guardian of the Bifrost, time was nonexistent, and the juiced up hunter took his opening, plunging his stake deep into the abdomen of the surprised man. There was no cry, merely a gurgle of blood as it surged up into his throat, choking him. Sam grunted, twisting the stake before pulling it out, watching with piqued satisfaction as his prey sank to his knees and fell forward, unmoving, blood pooling under his still body.

"Move," came the one word order, Sam taking point and leading them as quickly as possible over the bridge toward Asgard. With luck, they would encounter no other obstacles before reaching the city of the gods.

They moved at a sprint for the wall, aiming for the relative sanctuary of a decent hiding place to scope out the lay of the city and formulate a more solid plan. Sam was the first to reach the wall, and he motioned for the others to file in beside him. They continued further away from where they'd stopped, settling for the cover of foliage to hide them.

Ziva knelt beside Gibbs, keeping her breathing under control as the team regrouped. They crouched in a rough circle, Sam looking toward Castiel and nodding. Taking his unspoken queue, the angel disappeared from their midst in a sound of fluttering wings.

"Conserve your energy," Zerachiel murmured, "Castiel will be back in moments."

Gibbs looked into the face of his agent, the face that belonged to McGee, yet no longer held any recognizable tick of the young agent. The angel met his eyes, nodding slightly in acknowledgment.

The atmosphere was tense among the little group. Their ears strained for the slightest sound, their eyes strained for the littlest movement. Their hands held tightly to their weapons, ready to use them at the slightest provocation. All they could do now was settle in and wait.

**~000086753090000~**

Dean pressed his back to the large tree in front of him, waiting for the armed guard to pass on his patrol. He'd made his way through half the city and the alarm that he'd escaped still hadn't been raised. He breathed a sigh of relief, peeking around the side of the large trunk to check the area in front of him. Finding his way clear, he took off in a sprint, hunching to make himself a smaller target should anyone be watching.

His next check point was an outcropping in the inner wall, providing a bit of shelter out of view of the city. He pressed back against the solid stonework, catching his breath. His arm was bleeding around the make-shift bandage, causing him to curse under his breath. His torn shirt had been abandoned in the room he'd been held in, leaving only his undershirt to fashion another bandage out of. He discarded the old, bloodied strip of cloth and stripped out of his undershirt, folding it over for thickness before securing it over the wound. He gritted his teeth to keep from voicing his discomfort. He'd have to wait until he got home to take care of the slash, if he got home. He sighed, resting his head back against the cool stone for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

He was angry, angry at Castiel, angry at the situation he'd put them in. He was worried, worried that he'd be stuck in this city and Kali would find him again. If he failed, it all failed. He had to get word to his brother. Sam was leading the group into a trap.

He checked his surroundings again, cursing as he saw the patrol that had passed him moving into the building he'd fled from. He estimated he had only seconds to find a way out of the city before the alarm was raised.

As quickly as he could manage, he slid away from the wall and started down the most direct route to the main gate. His muscles burned at the overexertion as he pushed himself harder than he ever had before. His headlong bound was stopped short as he found himself face-to-face with Castiel, having appeared just in front of him. He slid to an awkward stop, bowling the angel over with him as his momentum carried him forward.

"Dean?" the angel sputtered, crawling to his knees.

"No time, Cas," Dean panted. "Get us the hell out of here _now._" He grabbed Castiel's wrist, feeling the familiar sweep as the angel carried him out of harm's way, depositing him in the midst of the waiting group just outside of the walls.

Dean pushed himself back onto his haunches, looking immediately toward his brother. What had been relief turned quickly to disgust and he rounded on Castiel. "What _the hell_ have you done, Cas?" Rage reddened his face and the veins in his neck strained against his skin, belying his elevated pulse. "Don't answer, just get us out of here. It's a trap. We go _now._"

"Dean, no, we have to take care of this now," Sam argued.

"We're not ready for this, Sammy." His eyes squeezed shut as a horn blasted, sending those in the city springing to action. "Trust me, I'll explain when we get back to the house." He searched his brother's eyes. "Trust me, Sammy. We _will_ die if we stay here."

The younger hunter stared at his brother for a long moment, sizing him up. "Alright," he conceded. "Cas."

They pressed into a group just as they had before, gathered up close to the angels, and were instantly transported back into Gibbs' living room. Dean immediately fell backward onto the couch, feeling relief wash over him. For the moment, he had escaped certain death and had bought a few precious hours for the team. He ignored the prying stares for a few seconds, gathering himself and pushing himself to sit up, motioning that they should take seats.

"I was overpowered when we went for booze. It was stupid to leave the house." He folded his hands in front of him, looking at his brother. "It's Kali, Sam, and this isn't about Odin. She's raising the gods Lucifer killed...she's raising them to return the world to the way it was _before_ Christianity. Sam, she's going to _kill_ millions."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room.

"Kali?" Sam repeated.

"She still has our blood, Sammy."

The young hunter blew out his cheeks, sitting back in his chair.

Bobby sat with his stake across his knees, looking between the two brothers. "So, what now?" He knew what had happened at the Elysian Fields. He'd been one of the first to hear what had occurred.

"What now?" Dean echoed, his eyes moving to land on the angel he counted as among his most trusted friends. "Cas." He swallowed awkwardly. "Kali said some things..." He ran his hands nervously across his jeans. "What's really going on? You had to have seen this."

The angel regarded him coolly. "I suspected there was something deeper at play, yes."

"And you were gonna let us walk in there without knowing what that was?" Gibbs demanded hotly.

"I did not suspect the full scope of what you have described, Dean. News that Kali was in charge was indeed something I did not know. I did not know that other gods would be involved in the resurrection."

"Then what did you know?" Ziva queried quietly.

A look of guilt crossed Castiel's face, a testament to the effect the time with the boys had had on him. He sighed, suddenly sounding exhausted, something that the hunters hadn't heard since Sam had thrown himself into the pit. "I knew that the sacrifices were on a larger scale than just here in Washington. There were hot spots all over the world, a significant loss of life. The souls...the souls were neither in Heaven nor Hell. I suspected that it all ultimately led to the resurrection of Odin because of the Valkyries."

Sam and Bobby exchanged heavy glances, already having had their suspicions about Castiel long before this mission was dropped in their laps. He'd been acting odd lately, sending out other angels to answer their calls for help. Raphael had been their main concern to this point. If they failed now, none of it would matter anyway.

Dean looked up at his old friend, hurt clearly showing in his eyes. "Okay, Cas. I get that. What I don't get, though...is how, after everything we've been through as a team...you could let Sammy go back down that road with the demon blood. I don't care _how_ desperate we are, that is _never_ an option! Don't you remember how bad it was for him to come down from it last time? Remember having to tie him to the damned cot in the safe room at Bobby's?"

"It was..."

"Don't you dare say 'necessary,' Cas," the elder Winchester growled dangerously, cutting the angel off mid-sentence. "That," he pointed at Sam, "is _never_ necessary. It's gonna cost him more than we'd win."

Sam stood, "It was my choice, Dean. Castiel didn't force me." He looked down at his older brother, unable to feel the usual affection that coursed through him when he thought about all that Dean had been through for him. His heightened state denied him his normal human response. "I did it to save you, and that is worth whatever price needs to be paid."

Dean pushed himself from the sofa, standing toe-to-toe with his giant of a brother, craning his neck slightly to look up into his eyes. "Dammit, Sammy, we've talked about this. All we do is sacrifice for each other,...souls, lives, deals with the devil, hell, Sammy...we've done it all. We've both been to Hell and back! I won't let you be sucked in again, not for my sake."

There was a lengthy, heavy silence in the room, everyone seeming to absorb what was happening in front of them.

Finally, Sam reached out and put his hands on Dean's shoulders, heaving a heavy sigh. "What about for the sake of the world, Dean? You said Kali is hell-bent on destroying millions."

"We'll find another way," he answered quickly, "and we need to find it fast. Kali has our blood. If we leave the sanctuary of this place, she'll have us faster than we can blink."

"What do we need?" Gibbs asked.

"We need an army," Dean decided.

"I'll get on the horn, see if I can get some hunters in the area," Bobby offered, standing and quickly leaving the room.

"That's a start." The older Winchester stepped away from his brother. "Cas, you might as well start recruiting for the cause. We need to be ready to move by tomorrow night." He stalked out of the room, toward the downstairs bathroom, intending to take care of his wound. He'd be damned, that night, if he allowed Castiel to heal him. The suspicions that Bobby and Sam had shared with him played in the back of his mind, and what he'd heard today had started to confirm those suspicions. Things weren't right here, and he was going to get to the bottom of it, one way or another.

**000086753090000**

Kali stood over the two guards in the room her prisoner had been held in. One was motionless, the other hardly stirred. An abandoned bronzed pot laid on its side, clearly the weapon of choice. She motioned to have the dead guard carried away before kicking the other awake.

"What did I tell you about Dean Winchester, Corbitt?" she asked softly, ignoring that he was struggling to kneel before her.

"Forgive me, highness," he begged, "we were taken by surprise."

"I warned you." She gripped him by the throat, lifting him to his feet, reveling in the fear that clouded his eyes. Fire erupted along her arm, flowing to the man she held in her grasp. His screams started instantly, feeling his skin melt away from his bones.

Kali discarded the smoking corpse as he fell silent, no longer amused. She turned away, making her way from the room, gathering the guards as she went. She didn't stop until they reached Yggdrasil.

She turned on her heel, gazing out over the small army that had assembled. "There will be no more mistakes. Dean Winchester should not have escaped. Retrieve him, and bring his brother. Succeed, and be rewarded. Fail, and lose your life."

**tbc...**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: You guys are great! Looks like I'll give you a few more chapters after all. Hehe.**

The team had gathered in the basement, books and papers spread over every flat surface. Any information they had on Kali and been moved to the top. It seemed the best course of attack had been decided: a direct attack on the leader of the revolution. Everything else would have to be ignored until after Kali had fallen. It was their only chance of survival.

Bobby had brought out his old black book and had spent hours calling his old contacts, searching for able-bodied hunters in the area. They needed an army that time wouldn't allow them to gather, but Bobby was determined to give them the best chance available. Dean's cell phone hung on his ear as he huddled away in the corner, seated on one of Gibbs' sawhorses, his black book propped on a craft bench, a pen in his hand. Occasionally he would scratch out a name, a sign that yet another hunter had been lost to the cause. No one got out of the job alive.

"Should call Vance,...see if we can get some reinforcements from the agency," Gibbs murmured, picking up a text written in Greek and quickly discarding it again. Wearily, he adjusted his glasses, blinking and looking up at the hunter who sat across from him.

"Not risking any more innocents," Dean sighed, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes. "Too risky."

"They're in the area. They're trained in combat. Not easy to spook."

"Agent Gibbs," Dean leveled, clasping his hands in front of him on the workbench, "do you honestly think you could tell your agents that we're dealing with Kali and expect them not to have you committed immediately to the nearest nut house? All it would take would be one agent running to someone outside of NCIS...and it'd all be over." He paused, looking over at Bobby. "Bobby will find some firepower. He always does."

There was an uncomfortable silence as they went back to their reading. There was very little written about the Destroyer in regards to banishment or killing. Those boasting the sought after facts were written in dialects of known dead languages, making them impossible for any of them, aside from Bobby, to translate.

Sam held one such book in his hand, his eyes traveling over the symbols and text slowly, willing them to show him the meaning behind them. He was feeling antsy, his nerves on edge, making his skin itch and crawl. It soon began to creep into his consciousness, taking his attention away from the task at hand. His heart rate was quickening and sweat was beginning to bead on his brow, heat seeming to radiate at odd intervals from his body. He cleared his throat, adjusting uncomfortably in his seat before settling back down, trying to force his mind to focus.

"This text suggests that holy oil would work," Ziva commented, holding a book written in Hebrew, her finger marking her place on the page. "It says that you use it with fire. It shatters the..." she trailed off, mouthing over the words to herself, "it shatters the barrier between immortality and death. It will not kill her, but it will make her mortal."

"That's handy," Dean smiled, feeling a surge of hope. He knew Castiel would be able to get his hands on holy oil relatively easily. "Good work, Ziva."

She returned a small smile of her own, cutting her eyes toward Sam. The smile faded a fraction. His condition seemed to be deteriorating quickly. The exchange caught the older brother's attention, and a silent curse dropped from his lips.

"Dammit, Sammy, why didn't you say anything?"

Sam made a dismissive gesture, "wouldn't have made a difference." He clenched his jaw, meeting his brother's gaze squarely. "I'm fine." It was important for them to show no weakness at this point. Hunters would be arriving in the next few hours and any cracks that the original team showed would cause undue distress. Everything had to go perfectly. He pushed himself out of his chair. "I'll send Cas out after the oil. See what else you can dig up." Without another word, he ascended the stairs two at a time, closing the basement door behind him.

Dean settled back into his chair, shaking his head, unable to avoid the questioning gazes that came from the agents. "He's detoxing." Another heavy sigh dropped from his lips. "We'll have to top him up to keep him strong for this...It'll take him weeks to come down."

"How bad..." Gibbs trailed off, the question obvious.

"Like nothin' you've ever seen before," Bobby answered, rejoining them. He slapped his closed book down on the table in front of Dean. "We've got maybe five...six...on the way. Nearly twenty dead by my count, just in the last six months." He sank into a chair, looking suddenly older, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"We'll make it work."

Bobby gave a dry chuckle, "we always do." He reached for Ziva's book, reading over the passage she'd found. "Best we've got," he agreed. "How's Sam?"

Dean shook his head. "It's gonna be messy, Bobby."

"Always is." He reached for another book. "Idjit." He settled into his seat, propping the book against the table, hoping there would be more information hidden away, praying that there would be. The world depended on it.

**000086753090000**

Sam propped himself against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. There was a lot of pressure in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. The sensation was all too familiar. Withdrawals. He had been expecting them, but not so soon. He'd been praying that their mission would have been over before they started. He'd drank enough to keep him juiced for the better part of a day. It hadn't lasted longer than eight hours.

With a shaking hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow, sinking down to his haunches, his back to the wall. He hadn't made it outside for air after he'd sent Castiel away. This had hit him far too quickly. It wouldn't be long before hallucinations would set in, and he knew what that would bring. He'd seen the evidence of it when he'd been locked in Bobby's safe room the last time he'd been detoxing. He would need to be restrained.

"Hey."

Sam looked up, seeing the young medical examiner that Ducky had sent over standing only a few feet away. The young man, Palmer, made his way closer, kneeling beside him.

"You alright?" He could see the dilated pupils, and he shifted, letting light hit them. There was no response to the stimulus. Palmer reached down, taking Sam's wrist between his fingers. The hunter's pulse was rapid, his skin cool and clammy. "Have you taken anything? I...I mean, well, yeah...have you?"

"Yeah," Sam managed weakly. "Get my brother, please...basement." He leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes drifting shut. Images played just behind the lids and he fought them, knowing what they would bring, knowing that they were the start of hallucinations he'd be unable to break. He was scared of what they'd bring this time. They'd been bad before, but he had so much more fuel to work with now, things that his mind didn't yet remember.

It seemed like an eternity passed before his brother swam into view in front of him. "Sammy, come on," Dean coaxed, lightly slapping his brother's cheeks. "Wake up."

"D'n," Sam managed, his tongue feeling heavy and sluggish, "som'thin's not righ'." He willed his eyes to focus on his brother's face.

The others had sprinted up the stairs with Dean and stood behind him, watching the exchange worriedly. Sam was the strongest among them, and they needed him. Dean looked back at them, his face expressionless.

"We need another room, Gibbs," Dean said quietly. He slid his arm around his brother's waist and hoisted his brother upright, grunting in exertion, his muscles straining. "C'mon, Gigantor. Use your legs."

Sam leaned heavily against his brother, no strength in his body. They followed Gibbs to the living room where the older man paused at the stairs.

"All the other bedrooms are upstairs."

Dean looked around, his eyes settling on the couch. "We'll let him crash here, then." He pulled his brother back to the sofa, easing him back against the waiting cushions. Worry furrowed his brow as the younger hunter's head lolled back and he went limp. "Bobby?" He looked around for reassurance. "It wasn't like this before."

Bobby nodded. It had taken days for Sam to get to this point last time. "I dunno, son...Gotta wait for Cas."

"His face supposed to be goin' gray?" Gibbs asked, motioning for Palmer to move into the room where he'd been watching from the hallway.

"No," Dean answered. "The hell...How'd I miss that?"

Jimmy moved in beside Dean, continuing his examination of the younger Winchester. Dean eventually moved away, letting the one with the medical knowledge take over. It was a long while before he looked back, shaking his head, obviously confused.

"He said he took something when I asked him in the hallway," he offered.

"He did. Last night. Not exactly drugs," Dean answered.

"Well, what was it?" Jimmy queried, pushing his glasses back into position.

"Demon blood."

The other man paused, blinking rapidly. "I...um...well." He stood, nervously searching for something to do with his hands. He settled on crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "Consuming blood could have...would most likely have adverse affects on the human body." He cleared his throat. "But, um...I don't think...well, it looks like poison to me. I'd need Abby's lab and a blood sample to...uh, determine if my hypothesis is correct."

"Poison," Bobby repeated.

Palmer nodded.

"Son of a bitch."

**tbc...**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: As always, thank you for your wonderful reviews. If there is anyone I have forgotten to thank, please know that it wasn't my intention to overlook your review. They're all incredibly important to me. Thanks again!**

Sam felt weak. He'd never felt so weak in his life. Every attempt he made to make the slightest movement drained his energy further, sending him slipping into blackness. A dull ache had settled into his lower back, occasionally radiating sharp pain throughout his body. Sweats alternated between hot and cold, beading moisture across his face, making his shirt stick to his body. Brief moments of lucidity did nothing for him other than bring further frustration and discomfort; he couldn't even form the words to speak.

Ziva stood anxiously to the side beside Dean, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her face pale in the dim light. Dean also stood with his arms crossed, watching Palmer dig through Ducky's medical bag, searching for anything that might be of use to improving Sam's condition. It seemed they were going no where.

"Cas, where are ya?" Dean breathed, frustrated beyond belief. He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. He mulled over the past hours in his mind. Poison. The only thing that Sam had taken alone was the demon blood, that much he knew. Sam shared the same fare as everyone else in the house.

"I am here, Dean," Castiel responded quietly, appearing beside the hunter holding a large cask. His eyes surveyed the scene before him, slight worry furrowing his brow. "What is happening? I was delayed."

Dean noticed the rips on the trench coat that Castiel wore, the slight smears of blood across the white shirt were also fresh. There had been a fight to get what he needed. "Something's wrong with Sam, Cas. Jimmy here thinks it's poison." Dean nodded toward the young medical examiner who had dumped the contents of the bag onto the couch. "Will ya help him, Cas?"

"Of course." He handed Dean the holy oil, striding confidently over to the couch to stand beside the fading Sam.

Palmer looked up, his eyes seeming wider through the glasses he wore. The medical bag dropped from his hand and he tried to force his mouth to work, the sight of the angel a bit overwhelming for him still.

"Stand aside." The order was quiet, sending the young man clamoring awkwardly from his patient's side. Castiel placed his hands over Sam's chest, willing healing energy toward his friend. He closed his eyes, feeling out the strands of the poison, attempting to track it to the source, trying to undo the damage that had already been done.

Those in the room watched, fascinated by the soft golden glow that enveloped the two men. It pulsed gently, occasionally brightening as Castiel worked. Long moments passed and Dean began to feel dread building in the pit of his stomach. It had never taken Castiel that long to heal anything they'd been through.

Ziva glanced over at Dean, "should it take long?"

He gave a nervous shrug, shifting his weight on the balls of his feet. _C'mon, Cas,_ he thought.

A soft, teasing laugh echoed through his mind. His eyes darted around the room, checking each face. A few seconds later, it repeated. Dean turned on his heel, searching the corners of the darkened room. His hand instinctively reached for the firearm he usually tucked into the waistband of his jeans, and he silently cursed as he found nothing there.

_"You're not safe anywhere, Dean,"_ the voice whispered. _"Look at your brother. Watch him suffer. I can reach you anywhere."_

Bile raised in his throat. Kali.

_"You cannot save him. You will watch him die."_

"I do not understand," Castiel murmured, stepping away from Sam in confusion. "I cannot heal him. I cannot find the root of the poison." He looked toward Dean, for the first time in a long time looking completely lost.

Sickened, Dean stumbled to the nearest chair, his elbows against his knees, his head held in his hands. His couldn't help but hear his father as he had so many times growing up, _take care of Sammy, Dean._ He had always taken care of Sammy. Always. He rocked slightly, fighting away the dizziness that threatened to overtake him.

Gentle hands took his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face. He found himself staring down at Ziva, who knelt in front of him, his hands cradled in her own. "Are you ill?" she asked quietly as Castiel paced toward the two of them.

Numbly, he shook his head.

"Who were you talking to?" she pressed.

He took a steadying breath, rage filling him as the words replayed in his mind. He pushed to his feet, standing toe-to-toe with Cas. His jaw worked, clenching and unclenching in his anger.

Castiel met his gaze, "Dean?"

"Dammit, Cas..."

"Dean, my attempts at healing your brother could have called attention to where we are," the angel offered as the hunter floundered for words. "I understand your anger; I never intended for any of this to happen. You would have ended up involved even if I hadn't brought you this mission. You know that now. Kali has told you herself." He sighed. "I could not have spared you this, Dean. I could not have spared Sam or any of the team. The only way out...has always been through."

The hunter shook his head, pushing past Castiel to go to his brother. He checked Sam over himself, talking quietly to his brother, searching for any response. "I need you to fight, Sammy. Fight until I can figure out how to save you." He affectionately ruffled Sam's sweat-soaked hair, his chin trembling as he held himself in check. He was losing his brother, yet again, and he was powerless to stop it. He cleared his throat, blinking back tears. "We...uh...we move everything in here." He wiped at the corners of his mouth. "I want new hunters filled in as soon as they get here." He nodded toward Gibbs, who had reentered the living room with Bobby. "We'll be ready by morning. One way or another, this ends tomorrow."

They watched in silence as Dean carefully adjusted Sam's limp body, swinging his long legs up onto the sofa, easing his back down against the cushions until he laid flat. He was protective, insisting that he take of it by himself.

Bobby put his hand on Dean's shoulder, looking down at the pale face of the second boy he considered as a son. His own heart was breaking. "Dean, you don't have to go it alone anymore. These people wanna help too. They _care._ That's somethin' we've never had. Hunters don't get breaks, boy."

"I know," Dean whispered brokenly, his hands on his hips. "I just...keep hearin' dad, ya know. Every time. 'Take care of Sammy.' I'm tryin', Bobby...I just..." He hung his head. "How many times do we have to save the world? I watched Sam..._willingly_ jump into the pit. I spent a year without him. I spent almost a year with him, without his _soul._ Now this. Now...this..._god_ that we saved...wants to..." He trailed off. Kali already had what she wanted. She was making Dean suffer, taking his mind from the task at hand, just when they were getting close to finding out how to defeat her. She was spurring him to action, trying to force his hand before they were ready. "The blood, Bobby. She has our blood. She poisoned Sam."

"A distraction."

"And a sacrifice." He cursed. "She can do the same thing to me."

"All the more reason you should start trustin' Gibbs and his team a little more. Sent Cas to heal up Tony. Figured his healin' Sam would have alerted every angel around here anyway. We'll need the extra man, if so." He turned Dean to face him. "You boys..." he smiled sadly, "well, you're _my_ boys." He gripped Dean's shoulders firmly. "We'll make it through this. We always do."

Slowly, Dean nodded, his throat tightening. Bobby had never been open with him like that before. "Alright."

They stepped apart and Bobby moved toward Ziva. She nodded at the older hunter, her face expressionless. "You're good at that, ya know," he offered, "but I've seen the way ya look at 'im."

The corner of her mouth turned up slightly and she dropped her guard, "I was not exactly raised to share my feelings. Being here at NCIS with this team has taught me much." She glanced toward the sofa. "To be honest with you, I am confused. I do not believe in love at first sight, but..."

Bobby chuckled. "I understand." A fatherly look clouded his eyes. "It may not be who ya are, Ziva, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

"Will he be okay?" she asked worriedly.

"Why don't you look after 'im for us?"

She nodded. "What do I need to do?"

"Just...keep 'im comfortable. Nothin' else ya can do." He moved back, pulling Dean away, allowing Ziva to move into his place.

Dean growled. "Playin' matchmaker while he's dyin', Bobby?"

"No, idjit. I'm makin' sure the job gets done."

They pulled the chairs from the kitchen, setting up in the living room, the coffee table spread with a large handdrawn map of what Dean remembered of Asgard. With subdued pomp, Tony joined the circle, a look of relief on his face to be completely well after spending so long in pain.

"Abby's still sleeping," he explained. "That soul drain thing...takes a lot out of you."

Bobby chuckled in agreement.

As they worked on their plan, hunters began to arrive, led to the circle by Gibbs. They were apprehensive about working with federal agents, but quickly threw their fear aside as they learned the extent of what laid in front of them. The last hunter arrived around midnight, a man who reminded Bobby of Rufus. They were all experienced hunters, and were easily settled to their tasks, support for Dean. Unless Sam somehow made a miraculous recovery, the majority of the weight rested on Dean's shoulders. This was his burden. Kali wanted him, and she was going to get him.

**000086753090000**

Ziva rested Sam's head in her lap, pressing a cool cloth to his head. He was burning up, shivering with fever as the poison worked through his body. His brows were pinched together in pain, indicating that his semi-comatose state was bringing no comfort. She smoothed his hair back, trying, silently to let him know she was there.

She was confused by what she felt for Sam. She didn't want to admit that she loved him, but she knew that was the case. Logic fought with her heart. Loving someone like Sam would be dangerous. Love also meant she was leaving herself open for weakness. Love was something she'd not fully experienced before. She had felt something for Rivkin, which could have been love, but it felt nothing like what she felt, sitting there, holding Sam's unconscious body in her lap.

Other thoughts invaded her mind. What would she do if Sam never woke up? She'd hidden heartache, pain, sorrow, and loss behind an emotionless and cold mask for so long. She knew there would be no possible way to keep her heart safe this time. She was too far gone.

She took his hand in her own, silently willing him to wake, wordlessly willing her strength to him. All she needed was a moment, one minute of him conscious, to tell him...

Consciousness came, but it didn't come quietly. Pain snapped him from the poisoned slumber with a great cry. He bolted upright, crumbling instantly to his knees, his arms wrapped around his midsection as he vomited onto the floor.

"Sam!" Dean was instantly on his feet, beside his brother, helping Ziva pull the younger man to his feet. "You're alright, Sammy. You're alright."

Sam shivered, his legs like jelly, forcing him into a dangerous sway. Ziva pulled him back onto the sofa, wrapping her arms around him tightly for support.

"How ya feelin'?" he asked.

Sam's breathing was shallow and labored, "hurts, Dean," he managed. "What's...what's goin' on?" His mouth felt dry. "Detox?"

"No...nothin'...nothin' that simple." He motioned for Palmer. "Poison, Sammy. Kali worked some sort of hoodoo...I dunno."

Sam groaned, "poison..." A shiver coursed his spine. "...don't...don't feel s-so good."

"Need you to fight, Sammy," Dean repeated.

"I...I can give him something to make him sleep," Palmer offered, "but...but there's nothing...no antidote in Ducky's bag."

Sam cringed, finding himself depending more on Ziva's support. "No sleep," he managed. "No sleep..." He looked at Dean, suddenly panicked. "I see...'im,...D'n." His words had started to slur together again. "Hell,...D'n. Dun wan' go...back." His eyes started to close again.

"Dammit," Dean cursed, helping Ziva adjust Sam back in her lap. "I'll get her, Sammy. I'll finish this, I promise."

**tbc...**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Who doesn't love a little angst? Hehe. Warning: Content may be a little (or a lot) sensitive to some readers.**

_Sam blinked wearily, his body heavy in weakness. He groaned, rubbing his eyes with hands he didn't really feel, forcing his vision into focus. It was dark, hot, and an odd smell filled the air, slightly sulfurous. A wave of nausea washed over him, and he pushed himself to his feet. He knew this place. His soul knew this place. He rushed forward, he knew the number of steps it would take, his hands finding a solid wall._

_ Panicked, he reeled back a few steps, running his hands through his hair, spinning on his heels in a slow circle. He'd just been with his brother, lying in Ziva's lap, poison running rampant through his body. He couldn't be here now. Logically, he couldn't. He'd been rescued from Hell. Castiel had raised him up. Death had retrieved his soul. He was complete again._

_ "Why am I here?" he whispered to himself, pacing to the next wall, finding it just as solid as the other. He stumbled along, his hand running the length of the solid structure . There was no give, no crack,...it was solid, a room with little light, a prison. "Oh, God."_

_ "I thought you were never gonna wake up, Sammy," a voice said from the center of the room. "I was getting a little bored."_

_ Sam spun toward the voice. It was the voice that haunted him every second of every day. Lucifer. His tormentor. "Why am I back here?" he demanded, finding his voice._

_ "Back?" came the return, a mocking laugh echoing through the air. "You never left, Sam."_

_ Lucifer's face swam into view in front of him, a body that had once belonged to a man named Nick. Instinctively, Sam stepped back, hatred coursing through him._

_ "Oh, don't tell me...you were dreaming of being with big brother again. You were...saving the world, yet again. Am I right, Sammy?" Lucifer paced slowly around Sam, a sly smile touching his lips. "It's always the same dream. I know. You talk while you're lying there, dreaming or whatever it is you do."_

_ "This is the dream," Sam countered firmly. "I'm not here anymore." He thought back to Dean, pointing out the wound on his hand. The pain, applying pressure to the cut, had shocked him back to reality. He needed something to shock him out of this nightmare._

_ "I've always loved your optimism." Lucifer stopped in front of his prey, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "Every time you wake up, thinking you've been somewhere else...that...fire it reignites in you to fight me..." he laughed, "it makes stripping you down again _so_ much more entertaining."_

_ Sam swallowed nervously over the lump in his throat. The pit. "Where's Adam? Michael?"_

_ The other man chuckled, making a dismissive gesture, "oh, you know. Around. They're always around."_

_ The hunter side of Sam took over then, the logic that accompanied his profession rearing its head. "Show them to me." He steeled his jaw, meeting Lucifer's gaze squarely. "I want to see my brother."_

_ "You really do like torture, don't you?" He stepped closer to Sam, cupping his cheek thoughtfully in his hand. "You wouldn't recognize your brother, Sammy. You never do."_

_ Sam held his ground, his fists clenched by his side. Proof. He needed proof. He needed to see Adam._

_ "Oh, very well." Lucifer waved his hand to his side, bringing a slight light into the room, illuminating the far corner of the room._

_ A slight figure sat, huddled against the wall, head rested on his knees. Sam's eyes __widened slightly before he gathered his wits, striding quickly toward his younger brother, dropping to his knees in front of him._

_ "Adam." He reached forward, intending to raise the young man's head. Adam hadn't responded to him, and it worried him. He paused, his eyes picking up what he hadn't seen at first. The burns that covered the back of Adam's hands, deep and angry red, rimmed in dark brown and black. His clothes were ripped and burned in places, fitting against his lanky body haphazardly. Patches of hair were missing, as if they'd been ripped by the handful from his head. "Adam, look at me. C'mon." Carefully, he reached forward, searching for a place that wasn't maimed to place his hands._

_ The instant that Adam's face swam into view, Sam stumbled backward, landing hard on his backside. The face was so mutilated that it was hardly recognizable. Had there been anyone else in the cage with them, Sam would have sworn it was any of them aside from his brother._

_ "Satisfied, Sam?" Lucifer asked quietly. "Is that what you wanted to see?" He paced forward, squatting beside Sam. "My brother and I,...well, we just get so damned bored." He clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Don't look so shocked, Sammy. You bear the worst of it. You always have. Protecting your little brother...that's your weakness, Sam. Family. Always sacrificing for your family."_

_ Anger fired to life in Sam's belly, red tinting his vision. With a speed he didn't realize he possessed, he pushed off the ground, head kept low as he tackled Lucifer in a full linebacker tackle. He had advantage, his fists pummeling into Lucifer's face. Again and again he struck, feeling bone crush under his fists, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough._

_ With every swing, he cried out, screaming out his anger. Each swing was heavy and would have felled a normal man. Tears accompanied the rage, tears for his brother. They'd been unable to save Adam from the pit. Sam had been willing to sacrifice his life, but Adam...Adam had been tricked into the game, promised something that was never intended to be given to him, all in a ploy to get Dean to play his part. Adam was innocent. He always had been innocent._

_ "You son of a bitch!" He drew back for a final swing. "You don't touch him!" He fell back, breathing heavily, looking down at the blood on his hands. Trembles wracked through his body, and he clenched and unclenched his fists, willing them to stop._

_ Lucifer slowly rose to his feet, making a show of readjusting his jaw, his face a bloody mess. He stood still, looking down at Sam, a slow smile stretching across his face. "Very,...very nice, Sammy." He raised his hand, passing it in front of his face. When he lowered it back to his side, his face was whole again, no sign of the beating he'd just taken._

_ Anger was replaced by hopelessness as Sam watched. He had no power, no ability to defend himself or his brother. Not in this place._

_ "That fire...that rage...it's so...delicious." He paced, his steps deliberate, across the room. "It's been a long time since I've seen that from you. How long has it been?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Almost two years now."_

_ "Stay away from him," Sam said through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowing as Lucifer stopped in front of Adam._

_ "You know what the beauty, if you can call it that, of this...cage...is?" he asked, looking down at the youngest son of John Winchester. "I mean, I can't get out. That would involve daddy dearest...taking a shine to me again, and we both know...that isn't going to happen." He chuckled. "The best part about being stuck in this cage with you...and Adam...and Michael...is that we can't die. Every single day, all day, I get to take out my frustrations...on you...on your brother...two of the three people who plotted to end my __beautiful work, who plotted to lock me in here...alone." He smiled peacefully. "You want me to stop? To leave your precious brother alone?" He snapped his fingers and Adam's body instantly jerked to life, a blood-curdling scream tearing from his throat as flames engulfed his body._

_ "Stop!" Sam sprang to his feet, intending to rush Lucifer, and found himself flung backward, held fast to the wall by a great weight. "Don't...touch...him!" Sam grunted, struggling against the weight, the breath knocked from his body._

_ Lucifer motioned, Adam's flailing body lifting from the ground, floating beside him as he moved toward Sam. "Or what, Sammy?" He snapped his fingers again and Adam fell to the floor, still screaming in pain, the smell of burnt flesh filling the air. "I told you...this is reality, and this reality is what I make it." He lifted Adam again, sending the body directly in front of Sam._

_ He couldn't look away, staring into Adam's pain-filled eyes that were glazed over and unresponsive. The smell of cooked flesh was overpowering. He knew he could do nothing. Lucifer was too powerful. He'd been stupid to attack him. Tears brimmed in his eyes again, tears of pain and sorrow, spilling over onto his cheeks. "I'm so...so sorry, Adam."_

_ "You should be," Adam rasped, blinking slowly, his eyes focusing on his brother. "You...and Dean...you should be sorry." Disgust colored what was left of his mutilated face. "Why...why didn't you stop him?"_

_ "I tried..." Sam whispered brokenly. "God, Adam,...I tried."_

_ With a twitch of his finger, Lucifer sent Adam sliding back across the floor of the cage, disappearing into the shadows again. "How touching. How damaged are you, Sammy?" He patted Sam's cheek. "Don't worry. I'll make sure you pay for your sins." He waved his hand, and agonizing, crippling pain shot through Sam's body._

_ He couldn't help but scream..._

__"The wall around Asgard has a few points we can use," Dean pointed out, trying to mark the places he'd used to hide from view of the city. "The room that bitch threw me in is here," he marked the building, "but I think the ritual will take place under that tree,...Yggdrasil."

"Lore supports that," Bobby agreed.

"I wanna say that Kali's mine," Dean growled, "but if any of you have a clear shot,...take it. If she falls, everything should just fall apart."

"Easy enough," one of the hunters acknowledged. He was short, stocky, with dirty blond hair. He had been a boxer in college, and sported a crooked nose and cauliflower ear as proof.

"Until then?" another asked.

Dean sighed, rolling his head about his shoulders to pop his neck, relieving some of the tension in his back. "Rest. Don't leave the house. Be ready to move at dawn."

Wordlessly, the hunters pushed back from their chairs, moving about the living room and stretching. They'd been sitting for several hours, memorizing the lay of Asgard, going over different scenarios, and asking questions about what had happened to bring everything about. Most of the hunters had never seen the amount of action that they were about to face, and most likely, they'd never see the like again. Only a twisted destiny brought about by a yellow-eyed demon had set them on the path that had put Sam, Dean, John, and Bobby at the crucible.

Gibbs, Tony, and Bobby stayed seated with Dean at the table, an silent moment of understanding passing between them. This could be the last time they spent together. There was no guarantee that they'd come back from this.

"Good to see you up and about," Dean offered, smiling slightly toward Tony.

"Glad Cas' healing me didn't rein down unholy fire on Gibbs' house," the agent quipped with a DiNozzo-famous smile. "God, it's so good to be able to just...move again." His smile faded as he caught Dean's gaze locked on the couch. "How's Sam?"

The elder Winchester sat forward, the worry that he'd been hiding marching plainly across his face. "Not good. Every minute we sit here, he gets closer to dyin'. Really can't afford to wait til mornin', but we don't have a choice. Rushin' in would just get us killed quicker, and...well, I have you guys to think about." He hung his head, a sad chuckle dropping from his lips, "hell, Sammy'd kill me if I let you guys die."

"Guessin' she made Sam sick to force Dean to move," Bobby offered. "She'll get it...just not how she wants it."

Dean nodded.

"It'd probably do to get some food...maybe coffee...down. Won't do no good to have a bunch of weak-kneed Nancies runnin' around Asgard tryin' to save the world." The eldest hunter stood, not waiting for anyone to contradict him before pushing off toward the kitchen, intent on making himself busy.

Gibbs excused himself to check on Abby, leaving Tony behind. The agent leaned forward, propping against the table. "How are you holdin' up?"

"Kali's leavin' me alone for the moment, so...I'm doin' better than my brother." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small flask. He took a swig before offering it to Tony. "Ziva,...she seems pretty awesome."

Tony turned to look at his partner, watching her patiently tend to Sam, wiping the sweat from his brow with a damp cloth, trying to keep him comfortable. It was a side of her he'd never seen before. The look of tenderness on her face was alien, and he felt a stab of jealousy. How long had he wanted her to look at him like that? "She is."

"It's been a long time since Sam's had any relationship. A demon killed the last girl he loved. He was gonna get married, settle down, have the kids and the white picket fence." Regret filled him. "But I brought him back to this. If I'd just left him alone...he'd have been there to protect Jessica. That's been..." he counted, "...huh...about ten years now."

A touch of regret also touched Tony, and he kicked himself. "Can you leave all this? Really?"

Dean laughed dryly. "Tried...and tried again." Bitterness flavored his words. "Only way out...is to die." He twisted the returned flask in his hands. "Except for us, that is. For some reason...every time we kick it...we end up right back here."

There was a long silence, and when Tony spoke, his voice was quiet, almost emotionless. "Will it be the same for my team?"

The hunter twisted open his flask again, this time draining what was left. "...I hope not, Tony," he sighed. "I hope..." he trailed off, movement from the couch catching his attention.

Sam was twitching a bit, his lips moving. Dean threw himself from his chair, ignoring the clatter it made as it fell backward, rushing toward his brother.

"Sammy?" he leaned in close, cupping his brother's face in his hands, trying to read his lips. "_'Why...am...I...here?_' Where, Sam?" He ignored the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew where Sam's mind had taken him. It was the only logical place.

_"Where's...Adam? Michael?"_ Sam asked, his voice weak, his eyes still closed firmly. "_I wanna see my brother."_

"No, no, no," he whispered, his mouth going dry. He landed light slaps against his brother's cheeks. "Wake up, Sammy. We're not going there. Not now." He drew back Sam's eyelids, checking for reaction. There was nothing. "I know you're in there, Gigantor. C'mon."

"Dean?" Ziva asked. "What is this?"

He ignored her, continuing to try and rouse his unconscious brother. "Wake up, Sam."

Sam leaped from the sofa with a speed none of them could comprehend, his eyes wide open and ablaze with rage. He rushed forward, catching the blond hunter in a tackle that knocked him off his feet. Sam drew back, connecting a hard punch to the man's face. The only thing that saved him was his boxer's reflexes, sending him into a defensive position, his forearms raised to protect his face. Dean was there seconds later, his arms locking around Sam's biceps, struggling to pull his much larger brother from the man.

"You son of a bitch!" Sam raged. "You don't touch him!"

Dean struggled to hold his enraged sibling, finding his grip slipping. "Bobby!" he cried. "_Bobby!"_

Within seconds, every hunter in the house was around Sam, helping Dean pull him back from his victim. It took all of them to free the hunter trapped underneath Sam's much larger frame. The man's face was bleeding and he looked dazed, his forearms already sporting large, deep bruises and gashes.

The hunters that held their still struggling comrade found themselves tossed aside like tissue as Sam's body lifted of it's own accord, flying through the air to crash into the far wall. The resounding crack of buckling wood filled the room. Sam hung, suspended with his feet off the floor, struggling with an invisible force.

"We gotta get him tied down!" Bobby called out. "Cas!"

It took the angel, Dean, Bobby, and two other hunters to pull Sam from the wall. Between the four of them, they got him situated, carrying him down the hallway toward the bedroom Abby occupied. Gibbs rushed ahead, carrying her from the room. There would have been no way to get Sam upstairs in his condition. They could hardly carry him as it was.

The body went limp as they stepped through the bedroom door and Dean glanced over worriedly, noting the tears that streamed down his brother's face. "He's detoxing."

They deposited him on the bed, moving quickly to restrain him to the heavy wooden frame of the bed. Bobby showed them how to make catch loops out of their belts and directed each of them to a corner, making sure Sam was secured before sagging wearily into the chair in the corner.

"Cas, take care of Kevin, will ya?" Dean managed, referring to the hunter Sam had attacked. He cursed under his breath, attempting to ignore the agents who stood in the doorway. No one needed to see this.

Ziva, however, stepped purposefully into the room, her face once again a mask of control. As they had dragged Sam into the bedroom, she had retrieved a basin of cool water from the kitchen, and she sat it carefully on the bedside table, a stack of clean cloths beside it. Dean eyed them, trying to decide whether or not he should send everyone away.

"I don't wanna seem rude, but...it's probably not safe for you to be in here with him," Dean finally said, his voice gruff with emotion he barely held in check.

Ziva nodded, but only reached for a fresh cloth, dipping it in the water and carefully squeezing the excess moisture out. She perched on the edge of the bed, reaching over and wiping the sweat from his face. "He is burning up." She dipped the cloth again. "After that...display, I agree, I am not entirely comfortable." She glanced over at Dean. "I will not, however, leave him. We are not certain how much time he has left, and I will not leave him to suffer alone."

It was a long while before Dean could force himself to speak again. When he finally did, he had to force himself not to reach over and embrace his stoic woman who sat stubbornly beside his brother. "Thanks," he finally murmured. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. "Don't...uh...don't let him loose. I'd hate to see you hurt."

The screaming started again, and Sam strained against his bonds, his body flailing wildly, his back arching off the bed. The old bed frame creaked and groaned at the misuse, but otherwise held. The veins bulged in Sam's neck, his face reddening as the screaming intensified. "Dean!" As he always did, Sam cried out for his brother, begging for help, seeking relief from his torture. "No! No! Dean! Please!"

Dean moved beside his brother, his hands resting on his shoulders, attempting to halt his flailing. "Sam!" He spoke firmly. "It's not real. Whatever you're seeing...it's not real. Wake up, Sammy."

_"Don't touch him! Leave Adam alone!"_ Sam jerked his left arm, almost snapping the belt that served as a restraint. Tears streamed down his face. His body fell limp and he trembled uncontrollably.

"C'mon, Sammy, listen to me." Dean took a fortifying breath, trying to shake away the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. He'd never gotten over his own guilt about what had happened to their half brother, Adam Milligan. "Sam, whatever that bastard is tellin' you,...it's not true. You're not in the pit anymore. You're here, with me, Bobby,...Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva. You drank demon blood again. Now, I dunno why you're crashin' so fast, and honestly, you're scarin' the hell out of everybody here. You almost beat another hunter to death." He swallowed over the lump in his throat. "Now, dammit, I need you to pull yourself together. Do you understand me? We've got a job to finish."

Sam didn't reply, but his breathing seemed to ease a bit. After long moments, his trembling abated and he laid still.

Ziva looked up at him, obvious worry mixed with concern weighing on her shoulders. "What is he seeing, Dean?"

He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. He was defeated, truth to tell. Hope was fleeing as quickly as it was building. "Look, I dunno what he's told you, Ziva, but things for us...they've never been all that great." He absently scratched at the stubble that covered his cheeks. "Me and Sammy...we were born for one purpose...our 'destiny.' I was born to be Michael's vessel,...and Sammy, well, he was supposed to be Lucifer's...and we, our bodies, anyway,...were to fight the epic battle that would bring about the end of the world." He looked back at his brother, sorrow aging his face drastically. "I was in Hell for six months...Time there, goes by so damned slow. Every day, I was tortured,...my soul...stripped down, flayed...things I can't even describe...and every day, Alastair, my torturer...would make me the same offer. I could get up off that table,...if I'd torture another soul...break them down just like Alastair broke me." He swallowed around the lump in his throat, fighting back his own memories of Hell. "It was different for Sammy.

"The only way we could end the Apocalypse, it turned out, was for Sam to say 'yes' to Lucifer. He thought he could fight 'im." He shook his head. "It was lights out. Sam had no control over Lucifer. I mean, it was full out nuts. Found out the big show down was supposed to happen at this graveyard...showed up...Figured the end of the world was comin' anyway,...wasn't gonna let Sammy die alone. See, it wasn't long before that...Adam was brought back from the dead, and that's a story for another time. This angel, Zachariah, was pulling the strings to start this whole thing. Ya see, _he_ figured that I'd give if he put one of my brother's on the choppin' block, and Sam was obviously off the table. So, he told Adam he'd see his mom again...if he'd be Michael's vessel. We went to rescue him...killed Zachariah,...but we were too late...Adam was caught in that room...and Zachariah had already called Michael. Since my body wasn't there...he took Adam.

"Anyway, Michael and Lucifer met at this graveyard...Lucifer had the key to his own cage in Sam's pocket...the rings of the four horsemen. Cas pulled this move...hit Michael with a Molotov of holy oil and fire. That gave me a few minutes alone with Sam...it was the only chance I had to reach him. Lucifer beat my face in,...but all I could see was my little brother...and hear my dad tellin' me to take care of him. It didn't matter...I wanted to die...because I knew how everything was gonna end." He wiped at a tear he didn't realize had escape the corner of his eye. He awkwardly cleared his throat. "Anyway,...somethin' happened. There was this moment where this...look...crossed Lucifer's face, and suddenly, it was Sam lookin' down at me. He opened the pit and started to fall in...and Adam caught him. Sam pulled him in with him...the gate closed...both my brothers, trapped in the pit with those two douchebag angels.

"Bobby...Bobby was dead...Cas was dead. I'd lost everybody, and Sam had stopped Lucifer short of killin' me. Cas was brought back, he brought back Bobby...but he couldn't bring back Sam...or Adam. Me and Sammy, we had a deal, see? That was supposed to be the end. I wasn't supposed to find a way to save him,...go makin' another deal with the devil to pull him outta the cage. I was supposed to go my 'apple pie' life...and I did. I tried to give it a go." He leveled a guilt-filled look at Ziva, his jaw working as a slight tremble passed through his body. "I...suffered in Hell, Ziva, but it was nothin'...nothin' compared to what Sammy and Adam faced, locked in a small cage with two angels who had nothin' to do but pick on them.

"I don't know what Sam went through down there, but I know he woulda tried to save Adam as much pain as he could. Cas raised Sam's body, but the soul was still locked away...and when we finally got Death to retrieve it for us,...well, let's just say he was very honest about the...condition of Sam's soul. He put up a wall...a wall that gets weaker by the day. He's already had a few cracks...damn near killed him...and I know that this...the demon blood and poison...it's gonna wake up some memories that he's not ready to face yet." He hung his head. "It'll kill 'im before Kali has the chance."

Ziva continued to care for Sam, making sure the sweat was gone from his brow, packing cool cloths around his neck. "How do you do it?" The question was soft spoken, but direct.

"Do what?"

"How do you put such...experiences...behind you? How do you continue to do this job?"

He half-shrugged, shaking his head. "You don't. I see it behind me all the time." He looked back at his brother. "He doesn't deserve any of this."

"Neither of you do," Ziva answered quietly, dipping the cloth she held in the cool water. "I know that saying "I am sorry' would do nothing to ease your mind, so I will not say it. I will say 'thank you' instead." She turned slightly, placing a comforting hand over Dean's where it rested on the bed. "All of the sacrifices you and your family have made have ensured that I, for one, am alive today. None of us realized how close to the end we truly were. You have ensured that I, for one, am still alive. Thank you for everything you have done,...for everything that you will do in order to keep us safe."

He offered her a small smile, feeling a bit of affection for the quiet, reserved Israeli. "Ya know, you're alright, Ziva." She was alright; she was something unexpected. It was nice. "I'm glad...if this is really the end for me and Sammy...I'm glad that he has you."

She squeezed his hand slightly before pulling away. "I am glad too, Dean. I can only hope he wakes up long enough for me to tell him." Her gaze drifted back to the face of the seemingly-sleeping hunter, a look of longing presenting itself before she had schooled it carefully away.

Dean stood, leaning forward to squeeze her shoulder, "I don't think you have to worry about that," he stood back, turning on his heel, "I'm pretty sure he already knows." He steeled himself to face those outside, tucking his raw emotions back into the recesses of his mind, and left the room.

Ziva sighed slightly, taking her own moment to collect her thoughts. She was alone in the room with Sam, the man who had only a half hour before had been picked up off the floor by an invisible force and slammed against the wall so hard that the wall had cracked and buckled. It didn't seem to have affected Sam's body at all. She'd seen many things in her life that defied explanation, but none so much as when it had came to involve the Winchesters. Dean's story had chilled her to the bone. She couldn't understand how anybody could go through so much and still be functioning, let alone standing. Yet here, in this house, there were two men who had gone through Hell and came out swinging, swinging and saving the world. It gave her an odd sense of hope. These men were a dying breed, men willing to sacrifice their everything for the good of all mankind.

She pulled the cloths she had tucked around Sam's neck away, dropping them on the bedside table. She laid down beside him, resting her head against his shoulder, her hand coming to rest over his heart, feeling his pulse beneath her palm. Her eyes drifted closed and she breathed in his scent, allowing herself a brief moment to relax.

_ Sam panted, pushing himself to his knees, trying to ignore the burned flesh of his arms and hands, knowing what the rest of his body must look like. Lucifer had engulfed him in flame, just as he had Adam, laughing as Sam had begged for Dean to save him. Here, the shock of the pain was only temporary. When he passed out from the pain, he'd be completely healed when he woke, only for the torture to start over again._

_ Shakily, he found his feet, facing his tormentor with steel in his eyes. As long as he stayed alert, responsive, Lucifer would leave Adam alone. He'd rather take the full brunt of whatever the devil could dish out than let his brother suffer anymore._

_ "I'm surprised, Sammy. Usually, I'd be mopping you up off the floor right about now," Lucifer called, his footsteps echoing around the cage as he moved closer to Sam. _

_ "Yeah, well, I've got something worth fighting for," he spat through gritted teeth._

_ "Oh, you mean little Adam over there?" he glanced over his shoulder, reigniting the body with a thought. Adam's screams filled the air._

_ "Don't touch him! Leave Adam alone!" Sam demanded, grabbing handfuls of Lucifer's shirt, tears of sorrow and anger trickling down his cheeks._

_ "But it's so much fun." He laughed, pushing Sam back._

_ "C'mon, Sammy, listen to me."_

_ Sam paused as he heard Dean's voice cut through his rage. His eyes never left Lucifer, but he willed himself to hear something else, anything else, from his brother._

_ "Sam, whatever that bastard is tellin' you,...it's not true. You're not in the pit anymore. You're here, with me, Bobby,...Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva. You drank demon blood again. Now, I dunno why you're crashin' so fast, and honestly, you're scarin' the hell out of everybody here. You almost beat another hunter to death." Dean's voice paused. "Now, dammit, I need you to pull yourself together. Do you understand me? We've got a job to finish."_

_ Sam blinked, a rush of memories bombarding him. Valkyries, the shelter, Asgard, Kali, rescuing Dean...it all assaulted him, the pit slowly disappearing around him as he relived the past weeks in the blink of an eye._

_ "I'm not in Hell," he said to himself. "I'm not there anymore."_

Ziva pushed herself up on her elbow.

"Sam?" She cupped his cheek in her hand, looking down at him, willing him to speak again.

He blinked sluggishly, a slight groan escaping his lips as sensations returned to his body. His joints ached and he found he couldn't move to relieve the pressure. His mouth was dry and his head pounded. "Ziva?" he croaked.

"I am here, Sam," she whispered. "I will get you some water." She pushed off the bed, moving quickly to the kitchen. She motioned for Dean, going to the cabinets for a glass, running cool water from the tap. She turned, smiling in relief. "He is awake."

A matching look of relief crossed his face.

"Come." She led him back to the bedroom, moving back to her position on the bed, carefully propping Sam up in her lap. "Drink," she instructed, holding the glass to Sam's lips, controlling the flow of the water, allowing him to take small sips.

He drank greedily, reveling in the feel of the cool water soothing his parched mouth.

"Sammy." Dean perched on the edge of the bed.

"How long...was I out?" he asked, allowing himself to relax against Ziva, depending on her strength.

"A while," came the confession. "How are you feelin'?"

"Different." He swallowed, gratefully accepting another drink.

"Different, how? Different good?"

Sam took stock of himself. Something had changed, he just wasn't sure what it was. "I...I guess it's good. I...don't know." Talking seemed to be taking a lot out of him. "I was there, Dean...can't shake it...he had me...had me believing..."

"Hey." Dean shook his head. "It's okay, Sam. You got through it...You're back here now."

Sam closed his eyes, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "When...this whole...thing is over..." he shuddered, "we gotta save him."

The older Winchester nodded, "I know, Sammy." He stood. "I'll send Cas in...to check you over. You, uh...you should rest."

Ziva released Sam's right wrist from his restraint, adjusting him more comfortably in her lap. He sighed thankfully, feeling the tension ease in his back. It took only a moment for Castiel to join them, taking the place Dean had vacated on the bed.

"Dean tells me that you are feeling...different," he stated.

Sam nodded.

Castiel searched Sam's eyes, looking past them, much as he did when he was healing, using the eyes as the window to the soul. "Most interesting," he murmured. "It seems...the poison has been stopped." His brows furrowed. "The damage is immense,...but your life has been spared."

"I...don't understand."

"Neither do I." Castiel looked away. "I...must go. There is someone I must speak with." Someone who would have answers, he hoped. He disappeared, leaving a heavy silence hanging over the room.

Wordlessly, Ziva released his left wrist as well, letting the belt drop to the floor. A moment of panic struck him. What had she heard? What had she seen? Was he safe enough to be released from his bonds?

She laid him back against the pillows, moving to undo the rest of the restraints. He watched, noting the care she took not to cause him any discomfort. He could see the bowl and cloths on the table, and knew she must have been caring for him since he'd fallen ill. She offered him a smile, seating herself by his side.

"Ziva..."

"Sam..."

He swallowed nervously, watching her respond to him was like looking into a mirror. His mouth went dry again.

She took the silence as an invitation, taking his hand in her own. "I promised myself that I would not let the next opportunity pass," she explained quietly, "I was afraid that you would not wake." He marveled at the moisture that brightened her eyes. Tears. "What I seen in these past few hours...I am scared, Sam." The admission took a lot out of her. "But...I am not scared enough to let it keep me from telling you...that...I love you." She had wrestled with the words, but once they had passed her lips, it felt natural. It was an affirmation. "I love you," she repeated, a tear escaping down her cheek. "I was so afraid I would not get to tell you."

He closed his hand over hers, pulling her down beside him, snaking his arm around her to hold her as tight as he could. It felt right, holding her against him, her warmth comforting after what he'd endured. He'd fought pursuing anything beyond what they currently shared because of the danger they faced. He didn't want her to get hurt. "I'm scared too," he admitted. He was scared of her meeting the same fate as Jessica.

She wiped a stray tear from her cheek, moving to sit up. "I...I just wanted you to know."

He held her back, struggling to sit up, the effort winding him. He cursed his weakness, feeling his body sway. She attempted to help him lie back, but he shook his head, stubbornly remaining upright. "I love you too, Ziva," he breathed, wavering. "...just...wanted you...to know." He fell back, letting the mattress cradle him as blackness crept back in, threatening to take him.

Life shocked through him as her lips touched his, a gentle caress, keeping him tethered to reality.

"You can sleep," she whispered, curling back against him, "we will talk when you wake."

A small smile touched his lips as he allowed himself to drift away, the darkness this time filled with images of Ziva rather than his time in the pit. It was a moment of happiness that he hadn't expected to ever have again.

**000086753090000**

Castiel returned to the house. It was late and it appeared most everyone had bedded down for the night. Everyone, that was, except Dean. He took a seat beside the hunter on a seat that had been moved to the back deck.

"Where've you been?" Dean asked, nursing a glass of bourbon.

"Attempting to discover why Sam is no longer poisoned. It appears...that Kali's hold on your blood is limited. Sam's return to his memories of Hell saved his life, apparently...at least for the moment. Sam regained a bit of Lucifer's strength. It was as I feared. The damage, however, will take time to heal. The spell that Kali used is irreversible."

"What you're sayin',...is he's not gonna die, right?"

Castiel nodded slowly, "at least...not right now."

**tbc...**

**A/N: Figured it was time for a little romance...and a bit of a longer chapter. Stay tuned! The final battle is just around the bend.**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Glad to see that the last chapter was so well received. :) You guys are all fantastic. To borrow a Dean-ism, "Awesome."**

Sam blinked awake well before dawn, his eyes opening to a completely dark room. Light breathing beside him told him that Ziva was still asleep. He smiled slightly, the last memory of the night replaying in his head. In the midst of all the death and destruction, of everything, they had found each other. It'd been a long time since he'd felt something so right.

Those memories were quickly herded away, replaced by what had occupied his mind for the latter part of the evening. Hell. The pit. Lucifer. Adam. That trip had had nothing to do with detox. He knew that. It was too soon for detoxing. It took days for him to reach that point. What had sent him back there?

His body was still heavy in weakness, a foreign feeling to him. He shook it off, putting his hands under him and pushing himself to a seated position, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. A small rustle of blankets beside him told him that he had woken Ziva and he silently cursed himself. The beside lamp clicked on, sending a soft glow to slightly illuminate the room.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, hiding a yawn behind her hand.

He smiled at her as she scooted over to sit beside him. "Yeah...feeling a lot better, actually." He reached over, gently brushing a stray strand of dark hair away from her face. "Thank you,...for everything. You've been amazing."

A slight blush colored her cheeks, "I find myself feeling that I would do anything for you," she admitted awkwardly. "You will have to excuse me,...I am not used to sharing what I feel."

"It's been a while for me, too." He pressed a light kiss to her forehead, his hand coming to rest supporting her neck. He could feel her anticipation mixing with is own as his lips met hers, sending a shock through their bodies. It made him giddy, his heart racing, warmth spreading through his body. This is what he'd been missing. He sighed, allowing himself the brief moment of happiness.

_"That's right, Sammy. Drag her into all of this. I need a new plaything."_

His heart sank. Lazing in the corner, leaned back against the wall, stood Lucifer.

"Sam?" Ziva cupped his cheek in a soft hand, coaxing him to look down at her. "What is it?"

_"Might as well tell her, Sam. I'm not going anywhere."_

He swallowed nervously.

_"I told you I was bored. Couldn't make the pit real enough for you...might as well join you out here."_

"Sam?"

He shook his head a bit, hoping to clear it. "You should...uh...rest. I think...yeah, I need to talk to Dean. Now." He pushed himself up off the bed, swaying dangerously on his feet. His body was weak and he could hardly support his weight.

"Let me..."

"No, no." He exhaled, righting himself with a tremendous amount of effort. "It's okay...I...I got it." He gave her an awkward half smile. "Okay." His brow furrowed in concentration, he turned, deliberately placing one foot in front of the other, carrying himself toward the door.

_"Oh, nicely done, Sam. I'm sure that'll work out well for your relationship." _Lucifer followed him out the door. _"Now, she _is_ a pretty thing. Strong too. Wouldn't mind gettin' my hands on that."_

Sam checked the living room, finding the hunters spread across the floor, but Dean wasn't among them. The kitchen was empty and the basement was dark, leaving him only one place to check. He opened the back door, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw both Dean and Castiel sitting on the small back landing.

The older Winchester turned as he heard the door open, genuine surprise on his face. He quickly stood, offering Sam the support he needed, carefully lowering him into a waiting seat.

"What are you doin' awake?" Dean asked. "You were pretty out of it when I last checked. Looked pretty...cozy."

"Dunno," he looked pleadingly at his brother, "something's not right, Dean. I mean, I woke up feeling...great...considering what happened. I know it's not detox. This was different." He swallowed, not wanting to say what he knew had to be true. "The wall...the wall is gone, Dean." He grasped his brother's wrist. "I remember..."

_"Oh, don't be so dramatic."_

"I remember everything," he said resolutely, casting a withering glance to the image at his side.

"Everything?" Dean repeated, feeling sick.

Sam nodded. "I'm doing okay,...for now. I mean, I think I am." He closed his eyes, swallowing nervously. "At least, I was."

_"That's right, Sammy. I'm in your head."_

"You're seein' him again, aren't you?" the older brother asked quietly, remembering tracking his brother to the warehouse.

The younger brother nodded, helpless. "He was just...standing there in the corner when I woke up. He wants me to get involved with Ziva...said he needed someone else to play with. Dean, I can't do that to her."

_"Aw, why not, Sammy? You get what you want...I get what I want...It's a win-win deal!"_

Dean stood, his hands finding his hips as he began to pace slowly across the deck. "Did you tell her?"

"No...I couldn't do that to her." He dropped his head to his hands. "What do I do, Dean?"

"Cas?" Dean asked, waiting for an opinion from the angel who had fallen silent.

_"Oh, yes. Dear Castiel. He's the one who put you in this position in the first place. I'm sure he's chock _full_ of ideas."_

"Lucifer's hold on Sam would make it impossible for me to intervene. Even in this state, my brother is a formidable opponent." Genuine regret flavored his words. "I suggest we focus on the task at hand. Once we return, we can focus on ridding Sam of these hallucinations."

"Think you can last that long?" Dean knelt down beside Sam.

_"Oh, I doubt it." Lucifer laughed._

Sam squared his jaw, raking his hair back from his face. "Yeah. I can make it."

"How are ya feelin'?"

He sighed heavily. "I need more fuel." He looked over at Cas. "I have to go with you to face Kali."

"No. No way, Sam. I won't let you do that."

"You don't have a choice, Dean. Yes, it will make things worse...later, but for now, it will give me the strength I need to see this thing through...to make sure that there are as few casualties as possible." He looked down at his brother. "Dean,...we've never fought anything like this apart. We're stronger together. Kali won't be expecting me." He held Dean's gaze. "I have to go."

Dean blew out the breath he'd been holding, pushing away from his brother. He was angry at the situation. What Castiel had set in motion, he couldn't stop. He did need his brother beside him. He needed him capable and alert. In his current condition, Sam would have been nothing but cannon fodder.

_"Oh, c'mon, Dean! Drop the mother hen act. It's really getting old."_

"This...this is the last time, Sam. I mean it. No other 'save the world' crap is gonna pull us back to this point. You're done with the blood." He waved his hand dismissively at Castiel. "Do it before I change my mind."

_"Always so melodramatic, isn't he?" Lucifer knelt down behind Sam, his head level with his ear. "Do you really think you're gonna be able to resist me once you're all juiced up, Sammy? Ripe...for...the...picking."_

Sam looked down at his hand, seeing the faint scar that marred the otherwise normal flesh. He remembered the pain of pressing down into the wound and how it had made Lucifer disappear for a while, keeping him grounded to reality. He pressed his thumb down against the mark in determination, recalling the memory of pain, recalling how Lucifer had disappeared as he'd settled himself back into reality.

_Lucifer chuckled. "That won't work for much longer, Sammy." He disappeared._

Relieved beyond words, he sank back into his chair, feeling the tension drain from his body. He had allowed himself to feel secure after his ordeal, like maybe he'd found the trick to fighting seeing the other remnant that occupied his mind.

"Dude," Dean finally said, "I think you better go explain things to your girlfriend...before Cas gets back."

Sam understood. Things would be ugly once Castiel returned, and dawn was approaching quickly. He needed to make sure that she knew everything before he gave himself back over to nearly-souless Sam. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself out of his chair, steadied himself, and reentered the house, quietly approaching the room he'd shared with Ziva.

She had curled back on the bed, facing the door. It was obvious she hadn't gone back to sleep. She watched him close the door and make his slow, deliberate way across the room, back to the bed. He half fell onto the mattress, his limbs shaking in weakness.

"I didn't mean to run out like that," he offered, staring up at the ceiling, "I'm sorry."

She turned to face him, waiting in silence for him to purge what was on his mind.

"I'm not...I'm not okay, Ziva, and it's gonna be a long time before I am. It's not just the poison...It's my life." He shook his head, his eyes stinging slightly. "What you've seen here with me and my brother,...that's only part of what we deal with...only part of what _I _deal with." He sighed. "I don't want you to get hurt, Ziva."

"Dean explained to me what had happened to you," she said quietly, "about being Lucifer's vessel."

A part of him felt a rush of gratefulness toward his brother. Another part of him felt horrified. How much had Dean told her? He swallowed over the lump in his throat. "I've told you a lot too...but what I didn't tell you...was that I still see him. I mean, not just 'see,'...he talks to me. This part of him left in my mind,..." he trailed off in frustration, "it has a life of its own. It talks and acts just like him, it can make me see things." His chest tightened. He would never be free. "He was leaving me alone...until the poison hit...but earlier...he..." He reached for her hand. "I'd die before I let anything happen to you, Zi. I just don't know how long I can fight him."

A few moments passed before she picked herself up, rearranging herself next to him. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, her body formed perfectly against his side. "Tell me," she coaxed, her hand coming to rest over his heart. "Tell me what happened earlier."

It was one thing to confess weakness to his brother. It was quite another to confess it to the woman he was beginning to love, a woman who was depending on him to keep her safe. He shook himself. Ziva was perfectly capable of caring for herself. He knew that. She was more capable than most of the hunters he'd worked with over the years. "He was standing in the corner. He said 'drag her into all of this. I need a new plaything.'" He looked over at her. "If I lose control...I don't know what he'll make me do to you. You're strong, Ziva...but I don't think you'll be any match for him. I wasn't. Dean wasn't. Hell, he disposed of Cas like he was nothing...a snap of his fingers...and that was it."

Her stomach knotted. It was one thing to hear that this man she was falling for had been Lucifer's vessel. It was another thing to hear that Lucifer still had a strong foot hold and that he had pointed her out. "I understand."

He wrapped his arm around her.

"Do you think that you will ever truly be yourself again?" she asked softly.

"I hope so," he breathed. "I won't be selfish and ask you to wait. You deserve happiness, Ziva."

"So do you, Sam." She wrapped her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. "If we make it through tomorrow," she raised up on her elbow, looking down at him, "then at least we will have the time together until you have to leave."

He managed a sad smile, "yeah. At least we'll have that." He pulled her back into his arms, simply enjoying her closeness, memorizing what it felt like to have her held against him. Silently, he willed time to stop.

**000086753090000**

Bobby had roused the house a half hour before dawn, herding them into the kitchen. They had all gathered, save Sam and Castiel, who had disappeared to the basement yet again. None of the other hunters knew he'd woken. Abby had made a full recovery and joined them at the table, accepting her plate with a small smile. It was clear that everyone was wired. Sleep had been fitful with the task looming ahead of them.

Dean looked over those assembled, watching them eat in silence. He cleared his throat, standing. "Our plan is pretty simple," he stated, "and, uh, I guess the important thing is to remember to stay cool. Don't panic." He looked over at Kevin. "About what happened last night,..."

"Hey, I've seen some shit in my time," Kevin interjected, laying his empty plate on the table. "Cas fixed me up. Forget about it."

Dean smirked. "Good. I'll let you guys know that Sam will be going with us today. So, we've got a full team."

"He's alright?" Bobby asked.

"Sort of." He exchanged a heavy glance with the older hunter, the man who was like a father to the both of them. "He's with Cas now,...refueling."

When Sam joined them, it seemed as if nothing had happened the night before. He stood tall, his shoulders broad, his head held high. There was no hitch in his stride, no stumbling, and no limp. His appearance was impressive for someone who had been dying only hours before.

"Alright, guess we're ready," Dean said, finishing his coffee. "Get what ya need...leavin' in five."

The hunters moved off to the living room where their packs had been organized the night before. The NCIS team stayed in the kitchen, turning to Gibbs for direction.

He placed his mug on the counter, sighing. "We'll be alright," he stated firmly, "just go in, do your job, and we'll make it home."

They stood, sharing another silent moment before filing into the living room behind the hunters. Abby held Gibbs back, wrapping him in a tight hug.

"You'd better come back, Gibbs," she said sternly.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, offering her a rare smile. "Don't worry, Abs." He returned her hug. "We'll be alright."

"Promise me, Gibbs," she said stubbornly.

"I promise, Abs." He looked down at her, drinking in the features of her face, reminding himself of how much of a daughter she had been to him over the past years. He memorized the way she looked up at him in that moment, her entire world balanced on his promise. Gently, he stroked her cheek, a tenderness shining in his eyes, mirroring his emotions. "I love you, Abigail. I should've told you that a long time ago."

A tear ran down her pale cheek. "I love you, too, Gibbs." She sniffled, squeezing him tight before reluctantly letting him go.

He offered her another reassuring smile before stepping away, joining the team in the living room. He joined the circle, nodding to Dean to show he was ready. Wordlessly, he accepted his weapons from Tony, holstering his gun, holstering his backup, sheathing various knives in hidden belts across his body, and taking the blessed stake in his hand. A quick study showed that the others had done the same.

Castiel moved among them, passing out tethered leather pouches to attach to their belts. Bobby moved behind them, passing out lighters. Dean held his up.

"You get within throwing distance of Kali, you take this," he held up his leather pouch, "twist the top, pull like so," he demonstrated, "and light," he held up his lighter. "It'll make her mortal. If it bleeds, we can kill it. We _can_ defeat Kali." He took stock of his group. "Alright. Let's make this bitch bleed."

A blink of an eye brought them to the space just outside the wall where they'd hidden before. The newcomers looked over the Bifrost in wonder. Dean motioned for them to stay quiet. Using hand signals, he ordered them to stay put, nodding for his brother to take the opposite route. They swung up onto the wall, keeping low, moving along the length to take out the sentries posted there. The guards were tossed off the wall, Bobby and Gibbs moving to restrain and gag them, leaving Tony to keep the remainder of the team in check.

They returned to the check point, dropping back into the group. Dean grinned. "City's quiet," he whispered. "No turning back. Ready?"

They nodded.

Surprisingly quiet and agile, the newcomers pulled themselves up onto the wall, followed by Ziva and Tony, who threw their hands down for Gibbs and Bobby, pulling them up beside them. As planned, the group separated into groups of two, sprinting along the wall and dropping down next to an outcropping to regroup and plot a route to their next destination. They were to check all the buildings and rendezvous at the outcropping next to Yggdrasil.

Each new hunter was paired with someone of experience, to keep tabs and make sure that they followed the plan to the last instruction and to keep them from mistakes in case something went wrong. Dean took Kevin, moving off toward the building he'd escaped from. Bobby grouped with the younger man who reminded him of what Rufus had been, Robert. Sam was placed with a thin man, Evan, who sported many deep, ugly scars from his previous encounters. Gibbs found himself beside the quieter man of the group, Ryan, barely out of his teens, the son of one of Bobby's old contacts. Tony and Ziva were placed together, a team who already knew each other so well that very little communication was needed. The angels had been dispatched to the more dangerous buildings that required stealth beyond the capability of the others in the group.

The teams moved through the city in complete silence, ducking behind buildings as guards passed, taking chances to peak into any windows they came across, needing to locate Kali. They'd all had the description of what she looked like preached to them until they could recognize her in their sleep. In the land of blonde-haired women, she would be hard to miss.

Bobby peaked in through a window of what looked to be the barracks. He pulled away after a long moment, shaking his head, motioning for Robert to move back. They pulled to the rear of the building, and Bobby checked the position of his weapons.

"Aresenal in there. Looks like about three hundred sleepers in there. This probably ain't the only place like this."

"How many, ya think?" Robert asked, keeping watch for patrols.

"Maybe three...lookin' at about nine hundred soldiers. Hard to tell." He wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

"Nine hundred soldiers plus an angry god called the Destroyer versus nine humans and two angels. I like our chances." Sarcasm practically dripped from every word.

Bobby shook his head, a bit of a chuckle falling from his lips. "God, I swear, reincarnation's gotta be real." He jerked his head to the side, signaling they should move to the next building.

"Why's that?" Robert edged to the next window, looking into the room and finding it empty.

"'Cause you're so much like that damned bitter windbag who used to be my partner." He smirked at the slight offense that crossed Robert's face. "Take it as a compliment, boy. He was one of the best damned hunters I ever worked with."

They continued to search, edging into the area that Gibbs and Ryan had been assigned to search. The four met up only moments later, continuing into the next area that Sam had taken with Evan. The search was turning up empty.

Gibbs tapped his watch. "Half hour mark," he said quietly. Together, they crept toward the rendezvous point. Nearing Yggdrasil was the crucible of their journey as finding their hiding space meant crossing open ground. It had been easy enough half an hour earlier, but more guards now patrolled the streets. It looked as if they were preparing for shift change over. It wouldn't be long before they discovered the missing sentries along the walls.

They pressed into the outcropping, cursing the small space. There was no sign of Dean, Kevin, Tony, and Ziva.

"We've got maybe ten minutes," Gibbs offered, watching another patrol go by. "That's a shift change for the walls."

Sam glanced out, following their movements. "You're right." He took a look around for the other teams before pulling back to the safety of the rock. All eyes were on him. "Ambush." He pointed toward the wall. "That group first. Stay put. Watch." He dislodged himself from his hiding place, keeping low and sprinting to the tree. He looked around the trunk, judging the distance of the patrol, two men armed with spears.

They passed the tree and time seemed to slow for Sam. He blinked, counting out three slow seconds before slipping out behind them. The one closest to Sam took a knife to the back, silencing him instantly. As he was falling, Sam grabbed the next, snapping his neck before he could call out. He gestured toward the wall and the younger hunters ran out, helping him drag the bodies out of view.

"Efficient," Gibbs murmured, standing beside Bobby near the rocks.

"He's a lot more'n that," Bobby agreed. "He's...a different person when he's like this."

"He'd make a fine Marine."

"Well, their father was a military man. Raised 'em that way...to fight."

"Hmm." Gibbs filed his thoughts away, once again searching for his team.

"There." Bobby pointed to one of the far buildings. Tony and Ziva signaled, sprinting to the wall and running it's length until they reached the gathering point.

"Found her," Tony panted. "Big, shiny...gold house. Over there."

"Gladsheim," Bobby elaborated. "Figures she'd take whatever she wanted. It's the largest place in Asgard."

"Have you seen Dean?" Gibbs asked.

Ziva shook her head. "We were almost captured. We were forced to kill a patrol."

Gibbs nodded toward Yggdrasil. "Sam's doin' the same. They were headed for the wall."

"We need a better vantage point." Ziva cleaned and sheathed her knife.

Within five minutes, Dean and his partner came into view, crouched low against the wall. Kevin was pale and said nothing as they rejoined the group.

"'Bout to come lookin' for ya," Bobby growled. "What the hell kept ya?"

"Change of patrols on the eastern wall," Dean explained. "Took out five on the way here. Kev here, well, he's just not used to killin' somethin' that looks that human."

"Tony and Ziva found Kali." Bobby pointed. "Gladsheim."

"Odin's big shiny house?" Dean asked. "Figures...she's takin' over." He motioned the other hunters over, halting their silent assault on the patrols. "We're movin'," he instructed. "If we can get to Kali before we draw attention, then at least we can control how many hit us at once."

"Let's go." Sam took point, leading them across the street and ducking between the barracks and the bath house.

They ran together, cutting to as many shadowed hiding places they could find, masking their path. The run to Gladsheim was dangerous, and they found it necessary to take out another ten patrols on their run, quickly dragging the bodies out of the open, tucking them against the side of buildings to hide them.

Sam motioned for them to gather, paused in the last shelter that offered them a place to hide. In front of them stood Gladsheim, Odin's legendary house of gold. By the entrance, warming on the sun-baked cobblestones, laid Odin's wolves, Geri and Freki, sure to alert those inside to their arrival once they were noticed.

"The wolves weren't there before," Tony murmured.

"Didn't bring a crossbow," Bobby apologized. "Guns'll let 'em know we're here for sure."

Ziva stepped forward, her eyes focused on the wolf lying to the left side of the door. "I can handle it." She slid two small knives from hidden sheathes at her waist. Dean pulled the others back, giving her room to move. She took a small, steadying breath, judging the distance and aiming carefully, seeking a kill. With amazing accuracy, she let fire the two daggers within seconds of each other, each one burrowing deeply into the skulls of the sleeping wolves, killing them instantly.

"Anything else you'd like to share with the class?" Dean asked, quietly impressed.

She threw a smirk his way, "you will have to wait and see."

"Cas," Sam said, careful to keep his voice low, "we're ready."

Castiel and Zerachiel appeared beside them, their eyes locked on the shimmering structure before them. Castiel looked over at Sam, a look of regret clouding his eyes.

"There are warding runes written all over this place. The moment you step foot through the door, Kali will know you are here."

Dean cursed. "Is there any way to...I dunno...break it?"

The angel was silent for a moment, thinking, looking back over the warding runes, testing them as far as he could without setting them off. "I do not think so," he sighed. "They are engraved into the walls. To change them would set off an alarm."

Sam squared his jaw, nodding toward Gladsheim. "Then I guess that's it. We go in."

Gibbs stepped forward, taking the lead for his team. He looked over at the brothers, his hand resting on the knife at his side. "Hoorah."

**tbc...**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: As always, thank you! Welcome to the new readers and the anonymous reviewer. Additionally, this fic will now be venturing into waters completely independent of the end of season 6 of SPN, and therefore will have nothing to do with season 7. I apologize for the length of time it's taken to get this out as well. I'm not at a very good place in my life at the moment. Sorry for the delay.**

Castiel's prediction had been terribly accurate. As soon as the first hunter crossed the threshold into Gladsheim, alarms went off all throughout Asgard, rousing sleeping guards from the barracks, alerting guards still on patrol, and bringing in those that had been stationed in Gladsheim itself to guard against their arrival. All thoughts fled as they found themselves in a long hallway, enemies in front of them and enemies arriving from behind.

The training of both hunters and agents became apparent as they immediately switched, as a unit, to an aggressive defense, successfully attacking those that neared them, quickly clearing out the twenty guards that rushed their way from the furthest room in the hallway, leaving only those coming in from the outside to deal with.

Dean was satisfied. They could throw bodies at them all day, the advantage was theirs. Trapped in the hallway, no more than two people at a time could darken the doors, and the hunters quickly disposed of those who tried. After a wave of Valkyrie fell, they were pulled back to reform, those in charge coming together to form a plan.

The rag tag team of hunters and agents were left alone for the moment, with no way out and Kali behind them. The only way out was through. Sam closed and barred the door.

The brothers took point, placing the agents between them and the other hunters as they made their way slowly down the hallway. All rooms stood open on either side of the hallway, leading them past empty rooms. The end of the corridor widened, opening up into a large chamber. A large table, largely stone ornamented with silver, stood directly in the center of the room. Castiel, just behind Dean's left shoulder, held them back from entering the room. His eyes flicked quickly across the air in front of them.

"What is it?" Dean asked quietly.

"A spell," Castiel returned. "Paralysis would be one of the more preferable side effects." His lips moved in silence, concentrating on the air in front of them. Moments later, an audible rush of air filled the corridor, brushing past them toward the room. The angel nodded to Dean, signaling that it was safe to go through.

With the breaking of the spell, Kali appeared behind the stone table, her hands resting on the smooth top, her left sitting close to a dagger that rested across a deep groove. It was a sacrifice table, one similar to those used for the darkest sacrifices throughout the history of man.

"It took you long enough," Kali greeted, "and I see you brought guests." Slowly, she glanced over the group. "For the most part, adequate." Her eyes lingered on the agents, a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

Dean took a half step forward, "it's over, Kali."

"I agree." She palmed the ornamental dagger, running a slender finger along the sharp edge of the blade. The rubies in the golden hilt glittered in the natural light of the room. Slowly, she stepped around the table. "You have put yourselves exactly where I wanted you."

Bobby leveled his sawed-off at her, pulling back the hammer. It wouldn't drop her, but it would slow her, hopefully enough to give one of the boys a chance to get a shot in.

A smirk covered her face and her eyes pierced Bobby's, sending a chill up his spine. "Insignificant little man," she tsked, "you know that won't hurt me."

"Yeah," he growled, "but it won't stop me tryin'." He pulled the trigger, sending the holy oil-soaked bullet burrowing into Kali's shoulder. The impact caused her to stagger, falling back against the table.

The gunshot sent those in the room springing to action. Within seconds, Kali was on her feet, her face a mask of rage. A twitch of her finger sent Bobby flying back down the hallway, crashing into one of the ornate statues that lined the halls. Dean rushed forward, Sam by his side, seeking to tackle the goddess. They found only empty air.

Tony grabbed Ziva's wrist, dragging her to the corner, pushing her down beside a bench, using her body as a shield. She set up behind him, readying the pouch of holy oil, waiting for an opening.

The hunters spread out around the room, waiting for Kali to reappear. Sam and Dean stood back-to-back in front of the table, stilling themselves, listening for the slightest hint of movement near them.

Gibbs, seeing that the situation was somewhat under control, backed out of the room, jogging down the hallway after Bobby. The older hunter was unconscious, blood pooling underneath his head. Gibbs cursed under his breath, dropping to his knees, ripping off his shirt to make a make-shift bandage. Careful not to move him, he did the best he could to stem the flow of blood, using chunks of rubble to make a temporary brace for Bobby's neck. He looked up, back toward the end room, hoping that one of the angels would notice the dilemma. Instead, it seemed that both Castiel and Zerachiel had been forced to the defensive, defending themselves against waves of fire.

Kali had those in the room pinned down, their mortal flesh defenseless against the flames that seemed to be flaring from Kali's engulfed body. Two of the hunters had fallen, their skin burned beyond recognition.

Carefully, Gibbs weighed the situation . His disappearance hadn't been noticed. His hand went to the pouch at his side and he loosened the tie, taking it in his hand. He looked down at the smooth leather. Kali was on fire. The fire would disintegrate the leather as it neared her. All he needed was to get close enough to plant it accurately on her.

He looked down at Bobby again, making sure he was still breathing, and pushed himself to his feet, moving silently back down toward the room, careful to keep himself pressed against the wall.

Sam pushed Dean forward, toppling them both over the table, out of the way of another accurate wave of fire. Kali waved her hand, sending them both crashing into the far wall. Dean groaned, winded, his backside finding the floor beside his brother.

"Ideas?" he wheezed.

"_Yeah, Sammy."_ The voice sounded to his left, causing Sam to freeze. Jerkily, he turned his head, finding Lucifer staring at him, a teasing smile on his face. "_Any ideas?"_

Sam swallowed awkwardly, shaking his head. He couldn't afford this. Not now.

"_Aw, is this a bad time?"_ Lucifer stood, stretching richly. A mocking whistle escaped his lips. "_Would you look...at...that? Mm mm."_ He paced over beside Kali as she assaulted Castiel with another spell, sending the angel flying off his feet. _"Still just as pretty as the day I killed her little lover boy. What was his name? Ah, yes. Baldur. I must admit. I do _really_ like this body."_

Sam blinked, attempting to push himself to his feet.

"Sam?" Dean asked, grimacing as he found his feet, pulling his brother to a standing position. "Focus, Sam. Pull it together."

"_That's right. Pull it together, Sammy."_ He sneered, leaning in close to Kali, making a show of breathing her in. _"Better yet," _he toyed with a lock of her hair, "_I'll tell ya what. I'll finish this, take care of this little...debacle. You get to be the hero. You get the girl. You walk out of here with what's left of your little crew. I'll even leave you alone for a little while. All you have to do...is give me the reins for a little while."_

Sam found himself snapped back to reality, Lucifer disappearing, as Dean landed a hard slap against the back of his head, something they'd picked up from Gibbs over the time they'd spent with the agents.

Dean's hand closed over the hilt of his demon-killing knife, lunging forward as he drew the blade, burrowing the weapon deep into Kali's back. She shrieked in pain, reeling on her heels, relenting her attack on the angels, giving them time to disappear. Kali drew back, landing a hard blow to Dean's face, instantly breaking his nose and sending him flying backward, catching the edge of the table before landing in a crumbled heap on the floor.

Taking the distraction to her advantage, Ziva moved from behind Tony, rushing toward Kali. She feinted with her stake, following with the pouch of oil, landing a direct hit to the center of Kali's chest. Realization clouded Kali's eyes as the oil coated her silken robes.

In one fluid motion, the ebony goddess struck out, catching Ziva around the neck in a vice grip, crushing the life from her before tossing her aside like rubbish.

Gibbs struck from behind and Tony from the side upon seeing Ziva fall. Sam's cry of disbelief faded into the background as each man loosed their stakes, finding them only splintering in their hands. Two solid blows landed and the agents were knocked away like flies, smacking hard into the nearest furniture where they laid still.

"Cas!" Sam called, crumbling beside his brother. Dean wasn't breathing. A quick glance told him Ziva's fate was the same. Her lips had gone blue, her eyes glazed over as they stared vacantly back at him. His gut twisted and clenched. "Cas!"

Kali turned to him, her eyes blazing. "Looks like they've ran." Her fists clenched at her sides. "You're it, Sam. You're the last one standing."

_"The last sacrifice,"_ Lucifer mused. "_Now isn't that just something? Isn't that how our thing...ended...last time?"_

Anger flared to life in him.

"_If you'd just said yes about..." _he checked his imaginary watch as Kali began to move slowly toward Sam, "_three minutes ago, this would all be over and you'd be whisking your woman away."_ He looked down at Ziva's lifeless body. _"They're all dead, you know. Except Tweedledee and Tweedledum over there." _He jerked his head back toward Tony and Gibbs. "_Don't worry though. Without Dean on the sacrifice table, they'll take his spot. Kali still needs the blood."_

Sam's nostril's flared as he exhaled, red tinting his vision. Both Lucifer and Kali stood before him, waiting for him to make a move. The cries of those who had fallen filled his ears. He could hear his brother, telling him to focus. He could hear Bobby, telling him to finish the job in front of him. He could hear Ziva, urging him to be careful.

"Fine," he breathed, his eyes locking with Lucifer's. If he was going to be forced to endure Lucifer's presence without Dean and without Ziva, at least maybe this would kill him.

Lucifer's laugh engulfed him and he found his head spinning, forcing Sam to his knees. The sensation was familiar. His body and mind numbed, leaving him looking out from the inside, unable to control his own body.

Back in the driver's seat, Lucifer stood, rolling his head about his shoulders, feeling the satisfying crack as his neck popped. He chuckled, turning his gaze back to Kali, a good-natured smile covering his face. She faltered, taking a step back.

"Hello, Kali," he greeted quietly.

"Lucifer," she breathed, shaking her head.

He paced toward her, "I'm going to enjoy this."

**tbc...**

**A/N: Yes, I'm afraid I have to leave this cliffy, otherwise, it'll be another week before you get anything. Sorry!**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I freakin' love you guys.**

"I need that body, Lucifer," Kali said firmly, holding her ground as Sam's hulking form moved toward her.

A half-smirk graced Lucifer's lips, his eyes glinting in perverse amusement. "Well, so do I."

She clenched her fists by her side, judging the distance between them, her eyes narrowing to slits. "I think my needs are greater. Besides that little bit of fluff you left floating in Sam's head, the rest of your essence is in the pit."

Lucifer stopped, a genuine laugh of amusement dropping from his lips. "You think that makes any difference? At all?" He rolled his shoulders. "Me and Sam here, we're a volatile mix. He's strong enough without me to take you down,...just too stupid to realize it."

"Sam!" Castiel appeared behind Sam, stumbling to an awkward stop. Zerachiel wasn't far behind, falling against the table.

Lucifer turned his head, cutting his eyes back toward the angel.

Castiel blinked.

"Hello, brother. I was wondering when you'd show up."

Cas looked around the room, taking in the bodies that littered the floor. "Did you..."

He sighed heavily. "No. Fun was had before I took the reins. You think Sammy here would have agreed otherwise?"

"They're all..."

"Dead, yes." Lucifer turned back to Kali. "Now run along and let the adults play. Kali and I, well, we have some unfinished business." A sinister smile curved his lips. She was the only god who had escaped him at the Elysian.

Castiel squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full miniscule height. "I'm afraid that is not permitted, Lucifer."

"Permitted?" he hissed, rounding on his brother. "You want her dead, yeah? I'll do that for you. Problem solved. You want to take down Valhalla? I can do that too."

"Not with Sam's body."

"I'm afraid, brother," he paced to the smaller angel, his eyes narrowed as he loomed over him, "that's not quite up to you. It's your fault, after all, that the wall is all but gone. You're the one who let me loose."

Castiel took a step back, taking the force of Lucifer's words. It was true. Raising Sam without his soul had been a fatal error. Putting it back had been necessary, but what the Winchester would be and had already been forced to endure was worse. His mad quest to defeat Raphael was spiraling out of control.

Zerachiel had pushed himself into a crouching position and took the opportunity to rush Lucifer, intending to catch him in a flying tackle. The agility of Sam's muscular body was far superior to the speed McGee's body possessed, and he caught the angel, using the momentum to lift him overhead and send him flying back, crashing into Castiel and sending them both heavily to the floor. A smile on his face, Lucifer turned back to Kali, returning to the confrontation at hand, certain that Kali had been calculating the best moment for attack.

Castiel pushed Zerachiel over, rolling him onto his back. It took a moment for the angel to come around, blinking slowly. He'd cracked his head hard against the ground. Cas pushed himself to his knees, kneeling beside his friend. Quietly, he gestured around at the bodies on the floor.

"Take care of them," he mouthed. "This...is my fight."

He didn't wait to see if his orders were carried out, instead, he steeled himself, his muscles tensing as he waited for the opportune moment.

Lucifer had his back fully to Castiel, focused solely on the ebony-skinned woman in front of them. Fire had engulfed Kali and her eyes glowed like red coals. She reached forward, shooting flames from her fingertips in a furious attack that brushed over Lucifer.

A pain-filled cry tore from Lucifer's throat and he writhed in apparent pain, dropping to his knees. Kali advanced forward slowly, the flames growing in intensity. She fully intended to kill him, and her cackles of triumph filled the air. She stopped only inches away from him.

"You're a fool, Lucifer. We were here long before you. We possess the power of the universe." The fire abated. "We will retake what was taken from us."

With those words, Lucifer rose slowly to his feet, holding Kali's gaze.

She faltered. "You...are unharmed."

He smiled widely, drawing back and striking quickly, the sound of impact echoing through the room.

She gasped, her eyes widening in realization. The pain had been delayed, but now rushed through her body, drawing tears to her eyes. Her vision was fading, black closing in on her world. She looked down, seeing her blood drip down Lucifer's arm, an arm that disappeared into her chest.

He leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous. "I, the fool, Kali? You mongrel gods all die the same. This world...is mine." He jerked his arm free, throwing her now-limp body aside like crumpled paper.

Castiel hesitated. Sam's body was juiced up on demon blood, his suggestion, and was directly feeding Lucifer's power. He'd disposed of Kali without a second thought, a fight that had taken the lives of most of those who had made the journey to Asgard. Angel or not, he doubted that he could best Lucifer, even in a slightly weaker form. He swallowed over the lump in his throat, his mind racing. He had to find some way to get Sam to retake control of his body before Lucifer disappeared, taking Sam with him.

"What's the matter, brother?" Lucifer asked, turning slowly on his heel. Blood coated his right arm, the excess dripping, staining the floor. "Here I am. This is your one chance to get rid of me." He took a step forward, opening his arms wide. "I mean, you'll have to take Sam with me, but that's just collateral damage, right? C'mon. Take your best shot."

Cas found his feet, squaring his shoulders. "I will not harm Sam."

Lucifer snorted. "Cas! Look around. You brought his friends and family here...they're all dead! You think you haven't hurt him? You should hear all the carrying on he's doing up there." He pointed at his head. "He just won't shut up."

"Once the demon blood is out of his system, you won't be able to control him anymore." Castiel clenched his fists.

"You'd think that, wouldn't you? Truth is, he just opened the flood gates." Lucifer took a side-step, beginning a slow pace about the room. "You tore down the wall, Cas. I've been peeking out, seeing what's what. Just biding my time. Making myself just known enough to let Sam know that I'm not gone yet. Now that he's willingly given himself back..." he chuckled, "he'll never be alone again. I might not be driving his body, but I might as well be."

"I will find a way to stop you," he promised firmly, carefully watching Lucifer's trek about the room.

A soft, amused laugh was the only answer he received.

Castiel thought back to the graveyard where Michael and Lucifer had squared off, Michael in Adam's body and Lucifer in Sam's. Something had triggered inside Sam's mind that had enabled him to retake control from Lucifer, something stronger than the angel had been. Even though Castiel had been dead and unable to witness what had happened, Dean had reluctantly told him the story before everyone had parted ways. Dean hadn't been able to recognize what had happened; he'd simply counted it as a miracle. Castiel, however, had a suspicion he understood. After all, he'd struggled to control his own vessel's urges at first, having to stifle strong cravings and readjust habits. When Lucifer had been beating Dean, intent on killing him, Sam had been in the passenger seat. He'd seen and felt everything that was happening. The fighter in Sam wouldn't allow him to sit back and not try to stop things. Castiel knew that it would be the same here. No matter what had happened, Sam would not sit back and allow Lucifer to control him without a fight. He was sure that all he needed was a trigger.

"What do you intend to do?" Castiel finally asked.

"I'm gonna go finish what you started here. Selfish reasons." He turned toward the door. "After that..." he shrugged dismissively. He looked down at Kali's discarded body, drawing in another wind of satisfaction before turning to the door. Within seconds, he had disappeared.

Feeling a very human wave of emotion wash over him, Castiel pushed his anger at himself aside and knelt quickly beside Dean. If only Kali hadn't banished them, the team would still have been alive. He raised his hands over Dean's chest, willing healing energy through him to spread through the hunter's body, drawing his soul back from the abyss, healing the fatal wounds and weaving life back into him.

Dean gasped, his eyes flying open, glancing frantically about the room. Groaning, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, holding his head as he righted himself. "Cas?" he grunted, confused.

"You were dead," the angel answered simply, "and I revived you."

Slowly, he found his feet, willing the world to stop spinning as he looked around. Kali laid dead only a few feet away, a massive hole in her chest, blood pooled about her lithe body. He shook his head, taking stock. Zerachiel was in the corner. Gibbs and Tony sat together, seeming to support one another as Zerachiel knelt beside Ziva, who appeared to be lifeless.

Castiel moved away, seeking the rest of the team as Zerachiel moved down the hallway toward Bobby's crumpled body. Dean's head swam. What had happened? Where was Sam?

It took more concentration than he would have liked to move over to the recovering NCIS team. He offered a hand down to Gibbs, pulling the older man to his feet. Tony scooted over, pulling a drowsy, dizzy Ziva into his arms.

"Alright?" Dean asked gruffly.

Gibbs took stock of himself, working his hands, shoulders, and legs. "Think so." He looked over at Castiel, watching the angel work for a moment. His eyes took on a far away look, and something like grief appeared to wash over him. "We were dead, weren't we?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, his hand coming to rest on his hip. He looked down at the ground. "Yeah."

Gibbs nodded and he wiped hastily at his eyes, drawing an iron mask back over his face. "Where's Sam?" he asked hastily

Dean cleared his throat. "I dunno." He studied the room, worry gnawing at his mind. "Cas." He called the angel back over, relieved to see the other hunters regaining their footing, clothing singed, but otherwise no worse for the wear. "Where's Sam?"

Castiel sighed heavily, coming to rest in front of Dean. "I am sorry, Dean. Kali had some sort of banishing spell engraved on the table. All it took was a touch to send Zerachiel and myself away. By the time we got back...everyone was dead except Sam. He...gave control over to Lucifer..."

"What?" Dean raged.

"I am sorry, Dean. It happened before I arrived. He must have thought there was no hope. Lucifer...killed Kali, and now he's gone to finish the job."

"We gotta...we gotta do something." The older Winchester stared off down the hallway. "I mean, Sam...he wouldn't..."

"I know, Dean." Castiel reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder. "He never would have done this if he didn't feel all hope was lost. I feel that seeing me might have started his fight against Lucifer's hold, but there's no telling if he will be able to free himself this time."

"It's not really Lucifer, right? I mean, real Lucifer is in the pit. Isn't he?"

"Yes, Dean," Castiel confirmed, watching the hunter visibly relax. "I imagine that Lucifer's hold will only last as long as Sam is under the effects of the demon blood."

"We have to get to him, then. Now. He can get more blood."

"I know," Cas agreed. "Dean, at the graveyard, when Sam took control from Lucifer...what happened exactly?"

Dean blinked, his brows furrowed in confusion. That had been the worst day of his life, followed extremely closely by the first time Sam had died. Reluctantly, he dredged up memories of the day that he had buried in his mind, transporting himself back to that moment in time, sagged against the Impala, Sam's fist pummeling into his face with bone crushing force.

"I, uh...I'd pissed him off," he said gruffly, "so he was gonna kill me. While he was smashing my face in, something happened. I dunno what it was. He got this...really distant look on his face and it was like he was staring through me...and when he stepped back, it was Sam looking down at me, not...Lucifer." He caught an escaping tear and cleared his throat, blinking the moisture away. Winchester's didn't cry.

"I believe...what happened, Dean...was that there was a trigger that...switched Sam back on." He looked between the two men. "Think about how much history Sam has with you...with the car...While Lucifer was pounding your face in, Sam _must_ have been trying to stop him, and it took that trigger to make it work." He held Dean's gaze.

"Well, whaddya have in mind?"

Castiel weighed his response carefully, going over the idea over and over in his mind. He was certain he had the answer. He exhaled. When he spoke, his voice seemed to echo through every corner of the room, deep and commanding. "Ziva."

**tbc...**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: I'm glad to see that everyone is enjoying where the story is taking you all. Thanks so much for all the reviews and welcome to the new readers.**

The dark-haired Israeli accepted Tony's steadying hand as he hoisted her off the floor, Gibbs righting her on her feet. The room seemed to spin and it took great effort to focus on what was happening around her.

"All right, David?" Gibbs asked gently, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She nodded tentatively, catching his eyes. What she saw drew her to a stop, her breath catching slightly in her chest. A look like nothing she'd ever seen before had settled over Gibbs' iron mask, outlining his chiselled features with a haunted visage.

"Are you?" she returned just as quietly, her brows drawing together in concern.

He smiled sadly, looking between her and Tony, simply taking them in. He had been shaken. No amount of iron will could have prepared him for what they'd faced that day, for what he, personally, had seen.

"Boss?" Tony chimed in, his arm still firmly about Ziva's waist.

"Yeah," he finally voiced, clapping Tony lightly on the shoulder, "yeah. I'm alright." He cleared his throat and stepped away, walking purposefully toward Dean and Castiel. They needed a plan, and now was no time to go about revealing emotions he hadn't voiced in over a decade.

"He is clearly not okay," Ziva proffered, watching the grey-haired agent stride away from them.

"I agree with you there, Ziva." Tony looked down at her, feeling relief like he'd never felt before rush over him. She had been dead. He'd watched Kali lash out at her, killing her with a single blow. No amount of training had prepared any of them for what the day had brought. "I think...it's gonna be a long time before any of us are really 'okay' again."

"We were...dead."

He nodded.

"Did you..." she trailed off, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. "Do you think he saw something too?"

It took only seconds for her words to sink in, bringing to the forefront of his mind faint images that seemed just out of reach. It took a great deal of concentration to remember exactly what he'd seen. He'd been back on the rooftop with Gibbs and Kate, the day that Kate had taken a bullet in the head from Ari's sniper rifle, a bullet that had been meant for Gibbs. She was dead before she hit the ground.

"Probably," he managed, his throat burning. He thought he had come to terms with his partner's death. People died in his line of work all the time. They died in Sam and Dean's line of work too. Death was all around him all the time. He was only now starting to realize it.

She regarded the group of men through narrowed eyes, finally standing on her own strength instead of leaning against her partner. "What do you think they are talking about?" She crossed her arms defensively over her chest, noting how they were casting furtive glances back toward her.

Tony shook himself from his reverie, watching the group himself. He took her elbow, a steely determination washing over him. "I dunno, Zee-vah, but let's go find out, huh? We're all a part of this, aren't we? We've all died once today."

They walked together to the group standing beside the stone table, watching the revived hunters follow their lead. The men fell silent, exchanging heavy glances as everyone stood together.

"What now?" Tony asked. "Where's Sam?"

Dean's jaw clenched. "He's gone. Lucifer's in the driver's seat."

"What?" Bobby exclaimed angrily. "Where the hell'd he go?"

Castiel grimaced. "He is going to destroy Valhalla."

"That's what you wanted, right?" Kevin asked.

"Not...not this way," the angel sighed.

"So, cut the crap." Bobby took a step toward the angel, glowering. "How the hell do we get Sam back? Is there any good news?"

Gibbs looked down at the still body of Kali. "Besides Kali being dead?"

The hunter waved the response aside. It hadn't been worth Sam giving in.

"There is good news, I think." Castiel met Bobby's challenging gaze. It was no secret that the older hunter felt responsible for the boys, that he felt like a father to them. Since John Winchester had came into his life, he'd protected Sam and Dean the best that he could, guided them, and provided them, as much as he'd been able, with what John hadn't. "I...am sure that Lucifer is still in the pit."

Bobby blinked, shaking his head slightly. "But I thought you said..."

"I did," Cas interjected, raising his hand to silence the hunter. "All of the torture that Sam endured while he was locked inside the cage implanted Lucifer into his mind,...a projection of the true entity. It operates just as Lucifer did, and Sam's belief in it has given it life. I feel that it is that projection of Lucifer that has taken control of Sam. It speaks and acts just as my brother would, and Sam's body is the vessel...it remembers what it feels like to have him in control."

"So the Lucifer that Sam has been seein',..." Dean prompted, waiting for someone to finish his thought.

"Isn't real," Gibbs obliged, feeling some of the tension leave the room.

"It is not the real Lucifer," Castiel agreed, "but that does not make the situation any less volatile." He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I feel that we can reach Sam and bring him back, but we must hurry. If he destroys Valhalla before we can reach him,..." he trailed off, the implication clear. If they failed to find and stop Sam, they would have released a greater evil into the world and the Apocalypse would begin anew, greater than the threat that had just been silenced.

"What do we need to do?" Gibbs asked, anxious to put the ordeal behind his team. It was time to finish the job and take his wards back to a simpler time, a time before angels, gods, and demons.

"We need something to bring Sam back," Castiel said, turning to Ziva, "or someone."

All eyes in the room fell on the Israeli.

"Me?" She blinked.

Castiel nodded. "Sam is very strong and he has defeated this once before. He has a weakness for you. I believe...that is the key to reaching him."

She felt a chill race through her body, dread settling deep in her belly. She had listened to Sam talk about what he'd gone through and she had stayed, making a promise to herself that she would be there for him because he needed somebody, anybody, to put a spark of hope back into his drama-filled, grief-stricken life. She couldn't deny that she was attracted to him in a way that made her weak in the knees, but they'd not bothered to explore things any further. There was too much going on around them.

"What...um...what do I need to do?" She struggled to keep herself composed, wanting nothing more than to duck out of the room and find some reality that made sense to her.

Dean stepped forward, drawing the attention back to him. "Look, we can't even be sure what the hell's gonna happen when we find Sammy. I can take a beating. I'll go in first."  
>"Dean..." Cas started.<p>

"No, Cas. Dammit. I'm not doing this to anyone else." He put his hand on his hip, squaring off in front of the angel. "Now, find him. I don't care what you have to do. Just...find him, and come get me."

Silencing his objections, the angel disappeared, leaving Zerachiel to stand watch over them while he searched. Dean's resolve crumbled and he hung his head, dragging his palm heavily over the stubble on his jaw.

"I'm gettin' too old for this," he growled to no one in particular.

"We all are," Bobby agreed.

Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva wandered away from the rest of the group, finding their own corner of privacy in the large room. She leaned against the wall, her eyes on Dean's back.

"You two alright?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, boss," his senior field agent answered.

"Ziva?" His question was soft, revealing a tenderness he usually held in check.

She sighed, shaking her head. "I...I cannot imagine living as they do. I have had only a small taste, they have had an _entire _life devoted to killing ghosts and demons...and...and Satan." She worried her bottom lip. "Look at him. He puts up such a strong front, but that..." she pointed, "is the posture of a broken man." Pausing, she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, looking toward her boss. "A lot...a _lot_...has been asked of us since we were brought in to this situation. We have...seen things that cannot be unseen...We have experienced things that we never would have experienced in a life time. We have even...died." She silenced the chill that ran through her body. "Dean cannot go after Sam alone." She met Gibbs' eyes. "What happens if we lose him and all of this," she gestured around her, "is not over?"

"I don't know how much help we can be," Gibbs offered quietly.

"Castiel thinks I can reach Sam."

Tony nodded. "You have been spending a lot of time with him lately."

"I love him," she stated, the magnitude of the proclamation silencing the group. "He told me all of these horrible things that happened to him,...he told me what his life was like,...but it does not change anything. I loved him from the first moment I saw him." She smiled sadly. "It seems that I have a habit of falling for dangerous men."

"You heard Dean," Gibbs said softly, worry flavoring his words. "Sam isn't Sam right now." He reached out, placing a slightly shaking hand on Ziva's shoulder, feeling the need to connect with her. "I can't risk losing you, Ziva. Either of you." He glanced over at Tony. "I don't want either of you going near Sam until he's...normal again."

Gibbs didn't wait for a response. He stepped away from his team, expecting his orders to be followed. His eyes settled on Kali's corpse, his investigator's curiosity leading him across the room. They'd all been dead. No one had actually seen what had happened except for Castiel.

There was a large amount of blood pooled around the body, and she laid on her left side, her right arm draped across her torso, her palm against the cool stone, a break in the crimson pool. He was surprised to see that gods bled just like humans did. He knelt, brushing her hair back from her face, noticing that her eyes were open, staring blankly at the wall. Her skin had started to take on a marbled effect, rigor mortis settling into the joints.

"Gibbs?" Bobby asked, looking down at the agent.

"First time I've seen a dead god." He gingerly lifted her arm, revealing the large, gaping hole in Kali's chest. A low whistle dropped from his lips. "My God." He sat back on his heels, the enormity of the day settling on his shoulders.

"Yeah," the hunter growled, "that's a Lucifer special."

The seasoned agent found himself mentally piecing together what had happened, losing himself in the imagined confrontation. There were many times in his life that he'd faced terrible situations and saw evil all around him. He'd seen and experienced injustice and heartache. This, however, transcended that invisible boundary. What he'd experienced in his life until this point had just been the tip of the iceberg, even for all the pain it had brought him.

"Does Dean have a plan, Bobby?" He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the pain in his knees. "Can he do this? Can he save Sam by himself?"

Bobby never had a chance to answer, interrupted by Castiel's return. The angel stood before Dean, holding out his hand.

"I found him," he rushed.

Dean instantly took the angel's hand and they disappeared, leaving those in the room staring at where the two had stood.

"Can Dean save Sam?" Gibbs repeated.

The hunter shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I..." he hung his head, suddenly exhausted, "I don't know."

**tbc...**

**Horrible cliffee, I know. I've been struggling with this chapter. I apologize.**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Hopefully this chapter will sit a bit better with myself and everyone. :) As always, thank you for your reviews.**

Dean stumbled as Castiel brought them to rest well enough behind Sam that they didn't alert him to their presence. He steadied himself, his eyes slowly taking in the scene before him. They stood in the midst of an arena, surrounded by the corpses of slain warriors. Sam stood in the middle of the carnage, bathed in the blood of those he had slain.

"Cas?" Dean managed.

"The warriors of Valhalla," the angel supplied. "He is fulfilling his promise...selfish reasons, he said." He faced Dean. "I can do what must be done here. You must stop Sam."

Dean couldn't help but feel contempt for his long time friend. That contempt left a bitter taste in his mouth and a void in his heart. He didn't understand how he could have put them in such a situation. He couldn't believe he'd convinced Sam to take demon blood again. It was all too much.

"I know you are angry with me..."

"Angry...doesn't begin to cover it," he interjected. "Just...get out of here. I'll handle my brother."

The angel reluctantly left, leaving Dean standing alone behind his brother. The older Winchester took a deep, steadying breath, doing his best to force intruding memories from his mind. The last time he'd faced his brother like this, he'd lost him. He couldn't lose Sam again. He wouldn't.

"Sammy," he called, taking a few slow steps toward the hulking figure.

Sam, Lucifer-in-charge, turned slowly toward the voice, his arms dropping to his sides, showing off the blood that covered his body. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

"We're goin' home, Sam. Not leavin' without you."

Sam stumbled slightly and blinked, the presence within him seeming to fade. "You...you were all dead," he murmured. "I saw you."

"The angels brought us back," Dean pressed, watching Sam fight the other presence in his mind.

Sam shuddered and laughed dryly. "It doesn't matter." He rounded on Dean, advancing several steps toward the shorter man. "Sam's gone, Dean. All that fighting you've done to keep him...I was always going to win."

Dean's eyes narrowed and his body tensed, bracing for an attack. He wouldn't back down. If he had to beat sense into his brother, he would. "Yeah...except you're locked in a box in Hell. You're just a figment of his imagination."

"Figment or not...I'm the one in control." He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. "I'm..." he trailed off, an odd look clouding his face. He seemed pained. He looked at his brother, suddenly helpless. "Dean,...help me. Please."

Throwing caution to the wind, Dean rushed forward, catching his brother as he'd done so many times before. "Fight him, Sammy," he urged. "He's not real. _You're _in control."

Sam was still.

"Sammy?"

He laughed. "You...are so _stupid._"

Dean didn't have a chance to fling himself backward, out of Sam's reach. The younger man's arm snaked around his shoulders, securing him in a deadly headlock. Dean struggled, his hands pulling at Sam's forearm, attempting to free himself. He forced himself not to gasp for air, knowing that giving in to the struggle would eliminate his chance for survival. Instead, he waited, biding his time, before allowing his body to go limp.

Sam tossed his brother's body aside, sighing in satisfaction at the dull thud it made as he hit the floor. "Finally!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "You were _always_ holding Sam back. Think of _everything_ we can do now." He turned back to what he'd been doing, his eyes set on a gleam in the distance. "Starting with destroying this dump."

Quietly, Dean found his feet behind his brother, dropped his shoulder, and charged, catching him in the small of the back and bearing him to the floor. "Not as stupid as you think," he growled, struggling to hold him down.

Sam managed to get his knees under him, his lower body strength superior, pressing himself up from the ground. Dean, determined to hang on, wrapped his arms around his brother's neck, dropping himself to hang on his full weight, attempting to bring his opponent down.

Sam gripped Dean's wrist, fueled by the entity that overpowered his mind, prying an arm away from his neck. Dean fought to keep his hold, but he was no match for Sam's increased strength. Sam had a vice grip on his wrist, and with one deft move, he flung his brother over his shoulder, sending him flying several feet in the air.

Dean found the unforgiving ground with a grunt, his body sliding awkwardly to a stop. Winded, he tried to roll to his side, attempting to put his feet under him. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sam coming at him full steam, determined to drop him permanently. He waited as long as he could before lunging out of the way, rolling to his feet as Sam stumbled to a stop.

"Oh, bravo," he laughed, righting himself, running his hand through his hair as he turned slowly on his heel.

"Give me my brother back," Dean returned, drawing himself to stand up straight.

Sam held his arms wide, a taunting smile on his face. The challenge went unspoken.

"Cocky sonovabitch."

"I don't have all day, Dean. Make a move. I have places to be. Lives to ruin. Another apocalypse to start. Crowley to kill." He tapped an imaginary watch on his wrist. "Time's a-wastin', Deanie boy."

Dean shook his head, "you talk too much."

Sam took a few quick strides toward the shorter man, his fist lashing out with lightning

quickness, catching Dean square in the face. Bone gave way under his knuckles, the sickening crunch of nose cartilage giving way echoing in the still air. Talking ceased between the two men, blood gushing from Dean's broken nose. Sam unleashed a furious attack, connecting with any bit of exposed space he found. Ribs cracked with his assault. A jaw snapped.

Dean fell back, hardly able to keep himself on his feet. Panting, his vision fading fast with pain, he wiped his hand over his face, smearing the blood in an attempt to brush it away. He was bent slightly at the waist, willing the pain to subside enough to gather an attack of his own. Instead, he found himself transported back to the day in the graveyard, watching the visage of his brother beat him to death.

"'sokay, S'my," he managed, shaking his head to clear it. He immediately regretted the movement, his ears ringing in disapproval. "'sokay...I know...'s not you."

"Oh, it's me alright, Dean." He gripped his brother's bicep, his thumb digging into the muscle.

Dean bit back his grunt of discomfort, his eyes looking up into those of his brother, the eyes that held no trace of the younger Winchester.

"It's always been me. Do you know how long Sam's wanted to do this? Do you know how much you _infuriate_ him?" He drew back his fist.

Dean waited, calculating his next move in conjunction with his pain. He dropped his shoulder. "'sokay, S'my," he repeated, stepping back into his stride and shoving himself forward as Sam swung. He took the punch to his weakened jaw, breaking it clean through, but managed to take Sam down. Pain exploded through his head, through his entire body, bringing him dangerously close to blacking out. He hardly managed to roll out of the way of Sam's well-aimed kick.

The younger Winchester stood slowly, pacing over to his brother, looking down at the bleeding man with a mixture of pity and contempt. "This should have been over a long time ago."

"Sam!" the yell cut through his moment of victory and he jerked his head toward the sound, finding Ziva sprinting toward him. She threw herself forward, scrambling to cover Dean's body with her own. "No more, Sam!"

Weakly, Dean tried to protest, trying to make his hand push her aside. He couldn't bolster the strength to move, and the effort brought hot tears to his eyes.

"Get out of the way," he warned, his eyes narrowing.

She shook her head. "If you want Dean, you will have to go through me."

"And us," the agents echoed, deposited only feet away by Zerachiel.

Sam faltered, a flicker of recognition lighting his eyes. Slowly, Ziva crawled to her feet, carefully voiding the fear and nervousness from her face. Bravely, she stepped forward, standing toe-to-toe with the man she'd fallen for, reaching out to place her hands flat against his chest. Sam's hand clamped down over her wrist and he scowled down at her, drawing back to knock her aside.

She looked up at him, her eyes widened slightly, her lips trembling. "Do you know what I feel right now?" she asked quietly, searching his face. "I feel safe and warm, and happy...and I know beyond any doubt...that _this _Sam would not let anything happen to me, regardless of the situation he found himself in."

Her words had an instant effect, and Sam was staring at her in disbelief, his mind transported back to the day she'd wrapped herself around him on the couch, professing her faith in him. His grip slackened on her wrist and he blinked, his eyes flicking erratically across her face, to the agents behind her, to his brother on the floor. He stifled a cry, stumbling backward, finding the blood on his hands, the blood that covered most of his upper body, the blood that covered the ground.

"Oh God." He fell to his knees, vomiting violently, emptying the contents of his stomach on the ground. Visions of what he'd done assaulted him, driving him toward madness.

Tony went instantly to Dean's side, calling for the angels and not waiting for an answer before he was attempting to stop the blood that was pouring from his friend's face. Gibbs knelt on the other side of the stricken man, tearing clean strips of his own shirt for a makeshift rag, sopping up what blood he could.

Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, catching sight of the still form of his brother, flanked by the two men. He pushed past Ziva, almost knocking Tony over as he scrambled to Dean's side, taking his brother's hand.

"Dean, Dean...I'm so...sorry. Oh...God. What have I done?" He was anguished, his voice breaking with remorse and heartache.

Weakly, the elder squeezed his hand, an attempt to reassure him.

"No," he choked, "it's not okay." He shook. Frantically, he looked around for help, finding both angels absent. Angry, more with himself, he screamed for Cas, calling until his voice was hoarse.

The hold Dean had on his hand slowly loosened before finally falling limp in Sam's own. The hitched breathing slowed, Dean's head rolling listlessly to the side, the light in his eyes fading as he stared up at his brother.

It was over.

A strangled sob tore from his throat. He'd killed Dean. He was a murderer.

The agents pulled away slowly, their own grief filling the air. What had been a victory for the team had turned quickly into a wake, turning their triumph into tragedy.

Sam could only rock himself, pulling Dean's lifeless body into his arms as he wailed his grief into the foreign air.

**tbc...**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Figured I'd better get on the next update, after that chapter, lol. I won't apologize!**

Time seemed to stop as Sam sat there, holding the body of his dead brother, looking down at the bloody, mangled face. He'd cried himself out, hiccuping occasionally, the pain in his chest too much to bear. The angels were nowhere to be found. The agents could only watch helplessly. With the trauma to Dean's face, resuscitation would have been impossible without equipment. They had none. There was nothing to be done.

The sound of hurried footsteps reached their ears long before anyone came into view. Bobby rushed toward the agents, leading the three hunters who had stayed behind to dispose of Kali's body and destroy Gladsheim. The scene in front of him sent the older man into a sprint, his heart jumping immediately to his throat.

"Sam?" he panted, dropping to his knees, ignoring the discomfort of age. Eyes wide, he leaned forward, his hands pulling at Dean's shirt, an odd whimper of grief tearing involuntarily from his throat. "Sam, what happened?" His eyes traveled over Dean's face. He shook his head. "He's..."

"Dead," Sam finished flatly, his voice barely a croak. "I...I killed him, Bobby." He looked up, his eyes blank. "I killed my brother."

Wordlessly, Bobby sank back on his haunches, disbelief written plainly on his face. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the bloody spectacle in front of him, his hand traveling to rest over his heart, willing the pain that had started in his chest to go away.

"I c-couldn't...s-stop," Sam stammered, trembling, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Oh, God, Bobby...I couldn't stop." He bowed his head, great sobs ripping through his frame.

No one spoke. No one knew what to say. The rag-tag troupe could only stand together, keeping sad vigil over the scene playing out before them. Tony held to Ziva, feeling her shake against him. They'd all held together through the impossible, they'd done the impossible, all under the leadership of Dean, and now he laid dead before them.

Bobby suddenly lurched forward, taking Sam by the shoulders, shaking the younger man violently. "Do you still see 'im?" he demanded hotly.

Sam could only nod. Lucifer stood just behind him, his laughter just as loud as Sam's grieving sobs, enjoying the product of his labors.

"Where the hell's Cas?" he growled.

"Left," Sam whispered.

Bobby's jaw worked. He felt mutinous. He wanted to grab the angel by the throat and wring the life out of him. A fire burned in his belly that he couldn't quench. Everything that they'd been through since Castiel had raised Dean from Hell had led them here, and now Castiel was nowhere to be found.

"We need to get outta here," he finally spat, deciding on a course of action. He loosened his grip on Sam's shoulders, taking Sam by the chin and forcing him to meet his gaze. "You need to pull yerself together, Sam. Gotta job to finish." His throat tightened. "Gotta get Dean home."

"I think I can help with that." The voice belonged to Zerachiel, who had appeared only a few feet away. He held up his hands as Bobby stalked toward him. "Castiel has not abandoned you. He is carrying out the remainder of his mission."

"Get over there and fix my boy. Bring 'im back."

"We have only moments," he carefully side stepped the angry hunter, moving to the center of the group. "We must leave now." He leaned down, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I am truly sorry," he whispered, gesturing for everyone to join him. White light enveloped them, carrying them from Valhalla as the ground began to shake.

Lightning ripped through the sky and angry black clouds rolled in from the east, casting a dark shadow over the ground. Thunder rolled, echoing the rumbling that had began to shake the earth apart, great chasms appearing where the group had just stood.

In the midst of Valhalla stood Castiel, his arms stretched wide, light emanating from his body. Beams of white seemed to flow to him, brightening the longer he stood, until he lifted into the air. Suspended, the flow stopped, the light pulsed, and a great explosion ripped outward from Castiel.

Valhalla was no more.

**000086753090000**

Gently, Sam laid his brother on the couch and stepped back. His mind raced. Lucifer still taunted him, laughing. Images intruded on his consciousness, replaying what he'd done. Hell seemed to be opening up at his feet. Panicked, he bolted from the room, racing for somewhere to hide.

Zerachiel reached forward, placing his hand over Dean's chest, willing healing energies into the still body, infusing his skin with a soft, golden glow. After a long moment, the hunter's chest raised under the angel's hand, life returning to his body. His face mended, the bruising disappearing and the cuts knitting back together, leaving smooth skin beneath the blood.

Dean gasped for air, sitting bolt upright, his eyes flying open, searching around him for his attacker. He relaxed marginally, seeing that they'd gathered in Gibbs' living room. Sam was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank God," Bobby murmured, his voice gruff with unshed tears.

"I said he had only moments," Zerachiel stated, leaving no time for celebration. "Castiel will return. He has further use for me, but I...I will not take this vessel. Timothy McGee belongs with you. It is not yet his time." He offered Dean a half smile. "The angels of Heaven speak of you and your brother. While the opinion varies, no angel doubts your mettle, and you have more than proven your worth. It was an honor to serve by your side." He turned to the NCIS team. "No mortal should face what you all have faced. It is people like you that make our job easier. I only wish you could have been spared this ordeal."

Relief settled over the agents. It was finally over.

The angel nodded and disappeared from their midst.

"Gibbs!" Abby bounded down the hallway, her face alight. She threw herself at the senior agent, wrapping herself around him. "Thank God you're back! Is it done? Where's McGee? Where's Sam? What's going on?" The words rushed from her.

"It's over, Abs," Gibbs murmured, hugging her back. "It's all over."

Dean tore his eyes away from the reunion, looking up at Bobby. "Where's Sam?"

Bobby jerked his head toward the hallway. "Maybe clean yourself up first, huh? Don't think he'll hold it together...seein' you like that."

"He alright?"

Bobby shook his head.

Dean cursed, unsteadily standing. He still felt lightheaded. Bobby reached out, offering him a bit of support. After a second, he pulled the younger man into a tight hug, his hand gripping handfuls of his shirt.

"Don't you ever do that to me again, boy," he whispered hoarsely.

"Not anytime soon," Dean promised quietly, returning the hug just as tightly.

Abby's shriek shook them from their moment. McGee stood on the stairs, looking down at the group, diminished from what he'd been before. The angel was gone. Everything, if finally seemed, was coming full circle, and they'd all made it out alive.

**tbc...**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: And now it looks as if things are truly winding down. :) I'm so glad you all have put up with me and my long breaks between posting.**

"Timmy!" Abby cried, barely restraining herself from pouncing on the agent as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

He smiled, wrapping his arms tightly around her. "Hey, Abby," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Are you better, Timmy?" she asked, staring intently into his eyes.

He nodded slowly. "I was healed when the angel left...I'm just a bit tired." He cast a lingering glance over at his team, relief washing over him. It had seemed like a dream when Zerachiel had released him.

A shadow of a smile crossed Gibbs face while Tony strode forward and unashamedly pulled McGee into a hug, thumping him heartily on the back. For the moment, the unforgettable drama of what they'd seen fled their mind. Their team, their family, was whole again. They came together, reuniting with hugs, handshakes, and tears. The commotion in the living room drew Palmer into the open, who immediately pulled his phone open to call Ducky. The doctor had demanded to know the moment the agents had returned home.

"They're back, Dr. Mallard. All of them. Alive," he reported excitedly.

_"That's wonderful news, Mr. Palmer," _Ducky answered, sounding perplexed. _"I need to speak to one of the hunter's, if you will be so kind."_

Jimmy looked up, finding Bobby the closest to him. He held the cell phone out to him. "Dr. Mallard needs to talk to you."

Bobby took the phone, turning his back on the group. "Yeah?"

_"Ah, Bobby. I trust everything went well?"_

"Well enough. We all made it back mostly in one piece." He slid his hat from his head, roughly scratching his fingertips through his hair.

_"Do you require medical attention?"_

"Nothing pressin', Ducky. Might need some nerve pills if ya've got any."

_"Of course. I'll bring them with me." _He cleared his throat. _"The reason I asked to talk to you...I was just finishing up an autopsy on one of the bodies and...well, I'm not exactly sure...but they disappeared. They all...disappeared."_

Bobby nodded, sliding his hat back on. "Means it worked, Ducky. Valhalla's gone."

The doctor let out a relieved sigh, _"I was hoping to hear that. Please let Jethro know that I will be arriving shortly. I shall destroy these records and let the director know. He may wish to visit himself."_

"I'll tell 'em." He snapped the phone shut, handing it back to Palmer. He joined the agents, nodding toward McGee. "Good to see ya...human, kid. Not easy bein' worn like that."

A knowing glance passed between the two men.

"Listen, Gibbs...Ducky's on his way over. Apparently the bodies disappeared when Cas worked whatever mojo he was cookin' up there before we were zapped back here. He's gonna destroy the files and let your director know."

"Thanks," Gibbs responded, finally allowing himself to smile. "It's really over, isn't it?"

Bobby nodded, a small smile of his own touching his lips.

"I'm famished," Tony's voice cut across the excited conversation. "Who's cooking?"

Gibbs stayed behind as the group moved to the kitchen, the clanging of pots and pans sounding occasionally amidst the chatter. He cast a wistful glance over his shoulder.

"Nothin' like kids, huh?" the hunter asked knowingly.

Gibbs released a breathy laugh, nodding. They were his kids.

"I know," Bobby continued. "Dean,...Sam...they're like my own. I dunno what I'd do if anything happened to them,...or me." His throat tightened, Dean's bloody face flashing before his eyes. "I'm sorry ya'll got pulled into this...Didn't deserve it."

"I would say 'these things happen,' but they...they really don't." He worried his bottom lip, recalling what he'd seen. "Look, don't apologize. I have a rule about that, ya know. We...we just helped save the world. I mean, we sort of helped. We...died." A weight settled on his chest. "Every case we work...there's always a chance, ya know...came close a few times...but this time..."

"Saw somethin', didn't ya?"

Gibbs sat down heavily on the arm of the sofa, allowing himself a moment to process what had happened. "My girls,...Shannon, Kelly..." He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes. "I didn't just _see _them. I was _with_ them. I could...touch them and talk to them..."

Bobby reached forward, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. "Heaven, Gibbs," he murmured. "You were in Heaven."

"Heaven," he breathed, closing his eyes. A single tear slid down his cheek. "God, that's good to know. I mean, I always _knew_, but seeing them..." He covered his mouth with a shaking hand. "That's something I've needed for years." He looked up at Bobby, allowing himself a brief moment of vulnerability. "Everything we went through,...I won't regret it. We're all alive...and at the end of it all, I got to know that my girls are okay. They're happy."

A burst of laughter drew them back to the present. Gibbs found his feet, wiping the trail the tear had left from his cheek.

"Listen,..." Bobby shifted uneasily on the balls of his feet, "before the celebration or...whatever's gonna happen...happens..." He sighed. "The boy's 've taken a real shine to you and your team. That don't happen often. There's...somethin' big comin' and I...well, I've got a real bad feelin' that I ain't got long left." He squared his shoulders. "I've never been real good at sayin' what I feel, Gibbs, but those boys...they're my life. All I got left in this miserable world...and I need to make sure my boys are looked after...ya know...if I don't make it." He forced himself to look into Gibbs' eyes. "I wouldn't ask anyone else. I see the way yer team looks at ya, Gibbs...I want that for them...for my boys." He swallowed over the lump in his throat. "I ain't askin' ya to get involved with...ya know, not askin' ya to be a hunter...just...if things get hard for 'em...they know they've got somewhere to go."

"Of course," Gibbs answered, no hesitation in his voice. "I would be _honored_, Bobby." He took the hunter's outstretched hand, shaking it firmly. "This whole thing still scares the hell outta me, truth to tell...but you all...the job you do...I respect that. Me and my team, we'll have their six. Whenever they need it."

Bobby released a relieved breath. "Thanks." There was nothing else to be said. There was an unspoken understanding between the two men, a familiarity that required no explanation.

"Sam gonna be alright?" Gibbs finally asked, breaking the silence that had settled over them.

A sudden defeated look crossed the hunter's grizzled face and he seemed to deflate. Sam's plight weighed heavily on his mind. "I don't know...I just...don't know..."

**000086753090000**

Dean toweled the water off his face, staring at himself in the mirror. He was tired. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than they'd ever been. He sighed. Thankfully, the blood had came away with very little effort. He popped into the bedroom, grabbing a fresh shirt. He didn't want to upset Sam any more than he had to. Sam needed to see him alive and whole.

He took a fortifying breath, buttoned the last button on his shirt and stepped out of the bedroom. Sam wasn't on the deck. In his condition, Dean figured he would have retreated to a dark, quiet place. He pulled open the door to the basement and made his way down the stairs, flipping on the light.

Sam had found the furthest corner of the room and had sank down on his haunches, rocking himself. Dean slowly approached him, sinking down to sit in front of him. Sam didn't seem to notice he was there.

"Sammy?" Dean asked quietly.

He whimpered.

"It's okay, Sam. I'm here. I'm alive." He reached out, settling his hand over his brother's.

Sam jerked as if he'd been shot, pulling away from his brother. His breath quickened and he pressed himself back against the wall, shaking his head.

Dean felt exhaustion settle on his shoulders. It was going to be a long recovery, if Sam recovered at all.

**tbc...**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N:** **Thank you all for your continued support and welcome to the new readers.**

Dean trudged back up the stairs, kicking the basement door closed behind him. He'd only just managed to get Sam situated on Bobby's cot. The younger Winchester had hardly acknowledged his presence, only reacting to his touch. When he'd stared at his brother, it was as if he hadn't seen him at all. That worried Dean more than anything else about the situation.

He found himself standing in the doorway of the kitchen, not really seeing the celebration happening in front of him. Gibbs was at the stove, laughing and joking with his team as he flipped what looked like steaks in the frying pan. Abby had pulled her chair over as close as she could to McGee and sat, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, talking excitedly with the rest of the team.

Bobby was the first to notice Dean and pushed himself away from the table, pulling the older brother into the living room. Dean sank down on the couch, his legs no longer having the strength to support him. He was pale, putting pronounced emphasis on the dark bags under his eyes.

"Well," Bobby sat down beside him, "how is he?"

"Not good, Bobby," Dean sighed. "I think...I think we're losin' 'im." His head rolled back to rest on the sofa and he stared at the ceiling. "He just stared right through me...like there's nothin' there." His jaw worked, anger flaring in his chest. "We shoulda found another way...shoulda seen this comin'. Now my brother is pretty much a freakin' vegetable...andCas is MIA...again. What the hell are we gonna do, Bobby? How do we fix him this time?" Tears stung his eyes, but he fought them. Winchesters didn't cry. He was frustrated, angry, hurt...and the emotions just kept building inside him, making it hard for him to breathe.

"Just gotta keep on the way we always do.' Bobby turned the beer bottle he held in his hand. "Nothin' in our lives is easy, boy. You gotta know that by now. Sam'll take work, but he's a fighter. He'll...he'll pull through. You boys...both been to hell an' back. That gives me enough reason to hope."

The younger man swallowed over the lump in his throat, looking over to his mentor. They had never had to say much when it came to feelings. It was understood. When John had left the boys with Bobby, this man had been the one who had tried to give him a little bit of a childhood. There were memories with this man that could never be replaced, and this man had watched both he and his brother suffer, one after the other, tossed about at the hands of angels and demons. He knew heartache. He lived it every day.

"If things get bad, we'll leave here...take 'im back to my place. Job's done, no reason to drag these guys through more." He took a swig of his beer, looking back toward the kitchen, a dark look crossing his face. The situation was already bad, and he couldn't shake the nagging feeling from his mind that there was something bigger than they had faced coming. "Listen," he sighed, "I talked to Gibbs...an' I want you to know..." he trailed off, clearing his throat, "...want you know know that...if you ever need a place to go...and I mean _ever_...he's got your back."

Dean's attention temporarily turned from his brother, focusing on what he'd just been told. His brow's furrowed together. There was deeper meaning behind those words. Bobby wouldn't have dropped something like that in his lap without good reason. "Somethin' goin' on?" He sat up.

The older man drained his beer, wiping the excess from his lips with the back of his hand. He looked down at the empty bottle, his eyes seeming to unfocus. "I ain't gonna lie. Been feelin' a bit outta sorts lately. There's been a lot of...omens. The closer Cas gets to whatever is it he's tryin' to do, the worse things seem to get. Feels like there's this shadow just standin' behind me...all the time. We might've done something big here tonight, but...that shadow's still there."

"Have you tried EMF?" Dean's eyes scanned the air behind Bobby.

"Tried everythin' I can think of, you should know that. Comin' up with nothin'." He stood up, shaking his uneasiness away. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there. I just wanted you to know...you boys, you've got a place to go." He took a few steps toward the kitchen and stopped, hanging his head. "Focus on Sam, Dean. Get 'im better, and _then_ we can start focusin' on what's comin'."

**000086753090000**

Ducky let himself in, hanging his jacket by the door. He locked the door behind him, wandering toward the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. He dropped his medical bag on the coffee table in the living room before announcing himself.

Ziva vacated her chair, holding it for the doctor. She'd been itching to get away from the table and find Dean. Bobby had been very sedated when he'd came back to the table and it worried her. Once conversation had started up again, she excused herself, heading to the basement where she knew he'd be.

Quietly, she descended the stairs, her eyes immediately finding Sam's struggling form on the cot, Dean sitting on a sawhorse not far from him, staring into the distance and talking quietly. He stopped talking when he noticed she'd stopped on the bottom step. Sighing, he motioned her over.

She tried not to look at Sam as she made her way across the room and purposefully placed her back toward him, unable to watch him writhe in pain.

Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm sorry you have to see this, Ziva," he offered sincerely. "You saved him up there, ya know. That took a lot of guts." He extended his hand toward her. "Thank you."

Wordlessly, she shook his hand, offering him a nod of acknowledgment.

He gestured toward the cot. "That's what this life has done to Sammy. There's no magic cure for that." Sadness walked over his face. "You've probably been the best thing to happen to him for a long, long time...given him a little happiness..." A long moment of silence followed as he gazed over her shoulder. "I'm sorry you have to see this. I'm sorry...you had to see what you did."

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked softly. "Are _you_ going to be okay?"

"I'm fine," he brushed her question aside dismissively. "Sammy,...he's strong...stubborn...He knows I'll kick his ass if he's not up soon."

"Would you like for me to sit with him? Dinner is almost ready."

He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "No, no...wanna be here if he wakes up...He still thinks that I'm dead."

"Would you like for me to send Ducky to examine him?" She was grasping for straws, feeling the need to help, but unsure of where her place was. She was scared of Sam and of what she had seen him do, yet the knowledge that he'd not been in control of himself sat in the back of her mind. Was there a way to save him?

"Sure," he offered her a shadow of a smile, "if that'll make you feel better.""

She nodded, daring a peek over her shoulder before retreating from the basement, determined to get to the bottom of Sam's suffering. He deserved to be saved as much as anyone they'd protected. She would find a way to save him.

**tbc...**

**Sorry this is so short, but it's taken me all day. (Not proud of that either). I hope to have a bit of a longer chapter for you soon and a nice wrap up to follow. Thanks, as always, for your continued reviews and support. It means the world.**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Thanks again for the patience, guys. I've spent the last 3 weeks in and out of the Emergency Room and haven't really been in the right mind frame to write. Welcome to the new readers and thank you for all of the new adds. As always, a big hug to all of my faithful reviewers.**

Ziva stood, her hands on her hips, looking over Bobby's stack of books. They were spread all over the living room. She had no idea where to start. She didn't even have any clue what she was looking for. It would take forever for her to find anything in the thousands of pages of untranslated text.

She sighed. She'd torn herself away from the crowd that morning, missing the departure of the hunters they'd brought in to help with Kali. Gibbs, Tony, Abby, and McGee had left for the office, intent on conspiring with Director Vance on the best way to file the report on the dead marines at the homeless shelter. There was no way they could file the truth. A spin had to be put on it; it had to be a lie that brought answers and closure without giving up exactly what had happened.

Bobby had retreated to the basement with Dean and Sam. Occasionally, Sam's pained cries and tortured screams filled the air, seeming to echo from every corner of the mostly empty house. It tore at her heart, knowing that there was nothing she could do to spare him the agony he was in.

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly as she bowed her head. She'd never really been an emotional creature. It was against her very upbringing; the habits that had been instilled in her that were as natural as breathing. Allowing herself to give in completely to what she felt scared her, and she cursed herself for allowing herself to be scared. It was a vicious cycle. She exhaled in frustration, hiding her face in her hands.

She knew she wanted to save Sam. Regardless of whether or not she and Sam were meant to be together, she felt that she had specifically been brought into his life to save him. Undoubtedly, Bobby and Dean had probably exhausted every source they could find on the subject and Sam still labored under Lucifer's yoke. If the seasoned hunters couldn't figure it out, she knew she'd have no chance. That thought made her physically ill.

Here in the silence, she relived the last few weeks. She lost herself amidst the Valkyries, the blood, the pain, Valhalla, and the gods. Everything that they'd believed to be true before the Winchesters had came into their lives had been turned upside down. Life would never be the same for any of them.

Who was she in the midst of it all? What part did she play in the design that had been painted in front of them? Did fate even play a role anymore? Were they truly destined?

"Destiny does not exist anymore."

Ziva jumped, spinning on her heel, her hand instinctively reaching for her gun before she realized the voice belonged to Castiel. He stepped out of the shadows, the corner of his mouth twitching with the attempt of an apologetic smile.

"I didn't mean to frighten you."

She slowly relaxed, dropping her hand from her hip. "What do you mean by 'destiny does not exist,' Castiel?" she asked.

"The...idea is still there," he offered. "People are born with gifts,...or with a purpose,...but the work that has been done over the past decade has changed the path of destiny. For once in the history of mankind, there is truly free will. The song and dance between angels and demons has faltered. Many of the key players are dead. Now, the pagan gods have gone as well. Those that are left have gone into hiding. The future that was set is now constantly being rewritten."

She blinked. The future was being rewritten?

"I understand this is confusing for you. I did not come here to confuse you."

His words seemed to wake her up. She regarded him warily. "Dean has been calling for you. Sam is in trouble. Where have you been?" she demanded, her tone accusatory.

He glanced back toward the basement door. "I have heard his calls," he confirmed, a sigh dropping from his lips. He looked back to her. If he told her the truth, she would never forgive him. "I cannot fix Sam. If he recovers, it will not be because of me." He took a few short paces toward her, coming to stand toe to toe with her, his eyes boring into hers. "I am here for you, Ziva."

She stumbled back a half step, a sudden fear pulsing through her. The last time Castiel had specially visited one of the agents, he'd ended up with aggressive leukemia and had been a vessel for months.

Before she could stop him, he reached forward, placing his hands on either side of her head. A burst of power exploded from his palms, flooding an intense pain through her body. The world went black. She didn't even hear herself scream.

**000086753090000**

Dean tore up the stairs, fumbling with the door before jerking it open. He hooked his hand on the door frame, swinging himself the right way into the hall. A few short, sprinted steps brought him to the living room. Sam would never forgive him if he let anything happen to Ziva.

He knelt by her still form, checking for a pulse. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her pulse thundering strongly through her veins. Dean looked around the room, finding his feet. Bobby topped the stairs seconds later, the Colt in his hand.

"She's alive," Dean announced, gesturing for him to search the rear of the house.

There was no one to be found.

Castiel stood in the corner, hidden from mortal eyes, watching what was happening. Satisfied, he nodded, disappearing.

Dean froze, hearing the very faint, familiar sound. A curse dropped from his lips. What did Cas have in mind for them now?

**tbc...**

**A/N2: Another short chapter, but I won't apologize. Blame a sudden burst of inspiration for this set up chapter. Hope you enjoyed!**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for your support over the past month. :) I am feeling tons better. The infections have all cleared out. Each review and well wish brought a huge smile to my face. You guys truly are fantastic. Welcome to the new readers and thank you for the new adds to favorite. Consider yourselves hugged! I'm very happy to see you here.**

Ziva gasped, breath returning to her in a painful rush that burned like fire in her chest. She blinked sluggishly, her eyes opening to a room that seemed too dark to be Gibbs' living room. A groan tore from her lips as she pushed herself into a sitting position, her eyes searching in front of her for her attacker. Where was Castiel?

"I am _clearly_ no longer where I was," she murmured to herself, inching slowly to her feet, crouched in a defensive position. Her ears strained to pick up any sound that might give away where the next attack was coming from. She didn't care if Castiel was an angel. She wasn't going down without a fight.

Careful to remain silent, she placed one foot in front of the other, making her slow way across what appeared to be a large room. The slight scent of sulphur greeted her nose occasionally, offending her senses and making her pause. The hair on the back of her neck had risen, chills coursing the length of her body. She was in a bad place. There was no doubt of that.

She took deep, calming breaths, forcing her mind from the dangerous trek it was on. She knew where she was, and panic now would surely seal her fate. For what purpose had Castiel put her life in danger? Why had he brought her to this place? Why had he brought her alone? Why had he _left_ her alone?

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the low light and she was able to see the few feet in front of her. Quickly, she moved to the nearest wall, pressing herself into the shadows to avoid being seen. She wasn't sure what to expect, but hoped to be well out of the way of prying eyes before she got caught. Being caught here would be the beginning of never ending torture. Now only one question burned in her mind. How the hell was she supposed to escape?

**000086753090000**

"Cas!" Dean yelled, his face a mask of anger. He paced around the living room, careful not to tread on Ziva's still form. His hands were planted firmly on his hips, doing nothing to mask the shakes of rage that tore through his body.

Bobby sank down weakly on the couch, his gaze resting sadly on Ziva's pale face. Of all the things they'd done over their lifetimes, of all the things they'd seen...he'd never felt so lost and out of place. He felt helpless. They'd been betrayed. They'd been used. For what end, he had no idea, but he knew it in his heart. Their friend had thrown them to the wolves. He'd used them as bait for something beyond their understanding.

"Cas!"

"He's not comin', Dean," Bobby said quietly, his breath catching in agony in his throat. Unexpected tears stung his eyes. "We're alone."

"Dammit, Cas!" Dean stopped his pacing, bracing himself on the arm of the sofa. "Get your ass down here. You got us into this mess! Fix it!"

His demands were met with more silence.

A fresh wave of anger washed over him and he turned, striking out, his fist meeting the wall with unstoppable force, smashing through the wood like match sticks. A wordless scream of rage tore from his throat and he sank against the wall, spent. His head ached. His body ached. The tiny tendrils of hope he'd been grasping to slipped slowly from his fingers, enveloping him in the dark, dampening blanket of despair.

"What do we do, Bobby?" he asked weakly, tears glimmering in the corners of his eyes. His throat burned with the offending emotion. He looked pleadingly toward his mentor, begging for guidance. "I don't know what to do. I...I...I need help, Bobby. H-help me. Please."

Defeat crossed the hunter's face before he could school it away. It had been a long time since either of the boys had been brought that low. Being needed had always stirred something in the older man. The boys needed him. Weakness right now would do nothing but make matters worse.

Slowly, he pushed to his feet, a rush of thoughts assaulting his mind. Flashes of ancient texts, old cases, former associates and acquaintances, all pushing to the forefront and fighting for his attention. Something in his past experiences had to offer them an answer, had to offer them help.

"Get her to the basement," he ordered absently, sorting through the images that filled his mind. "It'll be easier to watch 'em together."

"Got an idea, Bobby?" Dean asked, kneeling beside Ziva and gathering her carefully into his arms.

A face swam into view and seemed to stay. He was a portly gentleman, about Bobby's age, salt and pepper hair with overly bushy eyebrows resting behind a thin pair of glasses. Bobby exhaled with a slight laugh, shaking his head.

"Get her to the basement. I have...a phone call to make. I'll...I'll call Gibbs too. He'll be madder'n a wet hen if he gets home and finds out we didn't tell 'im."

Dean nodded, pushing aside his curiosity. All he needed to know at the moment was that Bobby had a plan, or at least the beginnings of plan. Someone had a direction to go in, and for once, he wasn't being forced to step up to the plate. Someone, finally, was going to lead him.

He adjusted Ziva's limp body against his chest, supporting her neck as he carried her down to the basement, taking the steps carefully to avoid falling. It was hard to see where he was placing his feet. He knelt beside the cot that held his brother, laying Ziva carefully on the floor beside him, rolling his jacket up to make a make-shift pillow for her to rest against. He found an extra blanket that Bobby hadn't used and draped it over her body, tucking it underneath her to form a cocoon, keeping her warm on the cold floor.

"Hurry, Bobby," he whispered, looking over his brother. "I don't think Sammy has much time."

**000086753090000**

_"She's what?"_ Gibbs blasted.

"I know, Gibbs. We couldn't stop it. Didn't even know it was gonna happen," Bobby said quietly into the phone, his head bowed.

_"Is she...?"_

"Yeah, she's alive."

_"We're comin' home."_

"Watch your backs, Gibbs," he warned. "I dunno what's goin' on here, but I don't like it. Got another phone call to make...hoping I might find some answers there."

_"You call me the minute you have something,"_ came the order before the line went dead.

Bobby sighed heavily, taking the phone from his ear. "Sir, yes, sir," he mumbled under his breath. "Not like we ain't under enough pressure as it is." He stared down at the cell phone screen. "Not like I wanna make this call either." He started to dial. "But I gotta."

He raised the phone back to his ear, waiting for the call to connect. It rang normally twice before dropping into silence. A few seconds later brought a series of beeps, followed by another ring. The receiver lifted into silence.

Bobby released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "This is Robert Singer," he announced, "and we have a situation."

**tbc...**

**A/N: Borrowing a move from someone and offering a flash cross-over in the middle of a cross-over. Stay tuned for the next installment. :P**


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: As always, happy to see that my last chapter was so well received.**

_"Where are you now?"_

Bobby sighed. "We're in D.C.," he said into the phone. "I didn't wanna call, ya know, but we have bigger problems here. I was hopin' you'd have something that'd...help..."

There was a brief silence. _"I need you to tell me exactly what you know."_ There was muffled conversation in the background.

"The angels...they're not playin' by the rules anymore...ain't been for some time," he mumbled in defeat. "The situation here is kinda...well, strange. My boys, they don't know about you, and you don't know about them. They do what I do...only..." he trailed off, grasping for explanations. "Look, one of my boys is locked in a...a...memory in his head, and we've got an agent down. I think it has somethin' to do with Sam. Somethin's not right here and I think it's right up your alley."

_"So, you need to find out...what's going on in their minds, and you need a way to pull them back,"_ the man stated.

"Exactly!" he exhaled, feeling dizzy with relief. "Do you...do you have anything...like that?"

_"Maybe...I might...hmm..."_ The voice faded. _"I might be able to...No, that wouldn't work...Possibly...? Nah. It has to be something...something like..." _The sounds of paper scattering reached Bobby's ears as the man scrambled to lift his phone back to his ear. _"I'll need to get clearance. Just hang on 'til I get there. I must say, Mr. Singer, it's never boring with you, is it?"_

Bobby chuckled dryly. "You have no idea."

_"With any luck, we'll be there by morning. I'll be bringing a few agents with me. I think it's time we all got to know each other a little better, and I'll need to know exactly what's going on in your world."_

"Can I expect the same from you?" he returned.

_"Probably...not. Just...We'll be there soon."_ The line went dead.

Weakly, Bobby sank down onto the sofa, cradling the cell phone in his hands. He felt old. The unease he felt about the impending shadow was starting to force its way to the forefront. What if he didn't make it to see Sam wake up again? He took a few fortifying breaths, trying to force the bleak thoughts from his mind. He had to hold on to hope. This ordeal couldn't be permanent. They had too much work to do.

"Hey," Dean said quietly, stepping into the living room.

Bobby looked up, clearly startled.

"Thinkin' kinda hard there, huh?"

The older hunter grunted a laugh, nodding as he ran his hand over his face.

"Find any answers?"

"Maybe," he offered. "There's a guy...He'll be here in the morning. Hopefully."

"A guy? Like...like...like...what? A faith healer or something?" the Winchester asked.

Bobby levelled a telling gaze at the younger man, silencing him. "There's a lot about the world you don't know, son."

Dean paused, rampant confusion marching across his face. "Well, I've lived through the end of the world," he counted silently on his fingers, "how many times? There's things that go bump in the night. Me and Sam, we take care of that. What else is there to know?"

"There's no faith healer that's gonna be able to take care of whatever is wrong with Sam. I had to call in a favor I didn't think I'd ever have to cash in, and I don't even know if it's gonna work." He looked up at Dean sadly. "I honestly don't know if there's anything other than Cas that can save 'em."

A spark of anger ignited in Dean's stomach. "What do you..._Who _did you call, Bobby?"

He sighed. "I called...the government."

**000086753090000**

Ziva crept slowly along the wall, using her hand as a guide. There wasn't enough light to see clearly. Sounds reached her ears, mostly muffled. Occasionally, she would hear something shuffle by on the other side of the wall, but nothing had made itself known. Panic had started to settle in her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. She forced a breath through her nose, clenching her eyes shut. At least in Somalia, there'd been a chance of being rescued. Tony had came through for her then. How was he supposed to help her now?

A cry caught her attention, followed by maniacal laughter. She stopped, holding her breath, her ears straining to pick up the next sounds, no matter how faint they might be. She heard a heavy thud, followed by a lighter one. Something had hit the floor. Hard.

She dropped low to the ground where the shadows were deepest, edging forward against the wall.

"_Please," _she prayed silently, "_do not let me be trapped in here with some kind of monster."_

Another sound met her ears, a scream of pain, speeding her trek across the room. It took only a short moment for something to come into view, and her blood ran cold. How was such a thing even possible?

**000086753090000**

"How is she?" Gibbs strode into the house like a whirlwind.

A stunned Tony and McGee followed in his wake, joined shortly by Ducky, who had the presence of mind to shut the front door behind them.

The senior agent stopped in front of Dean, looking him over, waiting for someone to answer.

Dean flinched and took a step back. Gibbs' icy stare was unnerving. "You must be one _hell_ of an interrogator."

"And if you don't wanna find out _how_ good I am, I suggest someone start talkin'." He crossed his arms over his chest, settling back on the balls of his feet. "Now."

"She's breathin'," Bobby answered. "Now you know what we know."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, taking stock of those in the room. "And...neither of you knows what happened."

"We were in the basement with Sammy, heard a thud...found her on the floor. No EMF, no sulphur, no...anything. I checked."

"But you have an idea," Gibbs quipped, noting Dean's eyes shift slightly.

"No!" Dean exclaimed, almost angrily. Exhaustion swiftly settled on his shoulders and he hung his head, sighing. "Maybe." He looked over at Bobby, pain clouding his face. "I didn't wanna think you and Sammy were right. I didn't wanna...didn't wanna believe that he was capable..."

"I know," the hunter murmured.

"Care to bring me into the loop, fellas?" Gibbs forced through gritted teeth, his patience wearing thin.

"Cas," Dean supplied. "I think...he used us." He looked down at the ground, shaking his head. "He's the only one that could've done this, and he's not answerin' my call."

A curse fell from the agent's lips. He jerked his head toward Ducky, conveying an order that didn't need to be spoken. The doctor stepped forward, nodding his thanks as Bobby pointed him toward the basement.

"Figured it'd be easier to watch 'em together," he mumbled under his breath.

Gibbs had started a hard pace across the living room, his face an unreadable mask, yet anger radiated from every fiber of his body. It was impossible to miss.

"I _should_ have you all arrested and put in lock up until I know what's goin' on," he fumed, "and I know I'm not gonna find out what's going on without your help." He stopped in front of the hunters, meeting their eyes in acknowledgement. "I'm a pretty damned good judge of character, and I know what you, your brother, and you, Bobby, are capable of. I _know_ that neither of you would let anything happen to _my_ team. And despite what we've been through, what we've gained _and_ lost, I wouldn't change a bit of what we've gone through together." He paused. "But I swear to _God_ that if we can't find a way to fix this, to save Ziva,...I'll have your heads."

He brushed past them, following Ducky into the basement.

Dean exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Tony clapped him on the shoulder.

"I wish I could say that he's bluffing."

**000086753090000**

"Let me get this straight, you called in _another_ government agency?" Gibbs queried. "Which agency? And how do you expect the government to help?"

"It's...complicated," Bobby said awkwardly, shrugging a shoulder. "Let's just say it's above my pay grade and yours too."

"What, like X-Files or something?"

"Way to go, boss!" Tony chimed. "Look at you, bein' all...pop culture-y and...stuff..." he trailed off, seeing the warning look march over Gibbs' face. "Right, boss. Shutting up."

"Guess X-Files would be about as close as you can get."

"And you know about this...agency...how, exactly?"

Bobby absently fiddled with the tools on Gibbs' work bench, turning his back to those in the room. "Worked a case with my partner back in '91. Nasty case in Portland, thought it was a possession. Me an' Rufus went in with the holy water, exorcism, whole nine yards...and in the middle, while this...afflicted girl was just staring at us like we'd lost our minds,...these two men burst in, flashin' badges, pullin' guns..." he trailed off, lost in the memory. "Had the two of us hog tied in two seconds flat. Whatever it was they were lookin' for, the girl didn't have it. Turns out she wasn't possessed either.

"We'd been flashin' badges and ID since we'd rolled into town, but these guys were legit. They don't hunt what we hunt."

"What do they hunt?" McGee questioned.

"I can't say."

"Can't, or won't?" Gibbs demanded softly.

"Can't,"Bobby restated heavily. "The condition of leavin' with our lives was to keep our mouths shut. We helped 'em with their mission, gained a favor, and left town." He turned back to the group. "If you wanna know more, they'll be here any minute." He checked his watch. "At least, I hope."

As if on queue, a knock sounded on the door upstairs. Gibbs gestured for Bobby to go first and they all followed the hunter from the basement, curious to see who Bobby's mysterious government agent was.

He pulled the door open and immediately found himself presented with a chubby hand. He took it, inviting the agents inside.

"It's good to see you again," Bobby smiled, gesturing for the shorter man to precede him. The rest of those outside filed in behind the two men.

The agents stood in teams on opposite sides of the room, eyeing each other curiously. The man Bobby stood with appeared to be about the same age, short and heavy set, his ill fitting clothes hanging awkwardly from his body. Large, black, bushy eyebrows framed his eyes beneath his glasses.

"Agent Gibbs, this is Agent Neilson, NSA," Bobby said by way of introduction.

"NSA?" Gibbs repeated.

"And these are Agents Berring and Lattimer, Secret Service, and Agent Donovan," Agent Neilson finished. "You can call me Arty."

"Gibbs, DiNozzo, McGee, NCIS," Gibbs offered. "Agent David is downstairs."

"Ah, Hebrew," the strange man piped.

"Israeli." Gibbs nodded.

"This is Dean," Bobby nodded toward the silent Winchester in the corner. "His brother's downstairs too."

"So, Bobby here was kinda vague on what it is you guys do exactly," Tony said.

Arty smirked slyly. "You're about to find out, and believe me...it's life changing."

**tbc...**

**So, I thought about maybe ending this part of the story here and starting on another installment, but then I thought that there might be a few readers who would reach through their monitors, snake through my broadband, and strangle me, lol.**

**Please welcome the cast from Warehouse 13, and if you're not watching the show, YOU DAMNED WELL SHOULD BE! :)**


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Warehouse 13 is a Sci-fi show on the Syfy channel. The first few seasons were a bit low-budget, seeing as how it's the Syfy channel, lol. However, they've just premiered their fourth season, and I'm incredibly excited. The concept behind the show is awesome, and I hope you'll give it a chance. :)**

**That being said, I'm glad everyone's interested to see how they'll fit in. If this goes off successfully, I may consider a third installment to this two part series.**

**And it seems that there's one reader who is always going to be able to read my mind. ;) You'll know who you are...shortly!**

**Also: Feel better, Cappy712!**

"Life changing?" Tony asked, bounding down the stairs after the agents.

Agent Berring exchanged an amused glance with Agent Lattimer. The two men were far too alike.

Arty gathered them into a rough circle, looking the large group over. "Yes, life-changing. Ordinarily, anyone who uncovers information on exactly what we do is...killed, or some variation," he shook his head, making a dismissive gesture before turning to Bobby. "There's not anything going on in any government branch that I don't know about. Many of the same files you get cross my radar every day. Some of them we take, some we don't. I've been given clearance to tell you what it is we do, in exchange...we get the same thing from you and Dean."

Bobby exhaled slowly, nodding. "Well, hell, Arty. It's not like what we do is super secret or anything, just the fact that we use bogus government ID to do it." He propped himself against the workbench. "That day in Portland,...we were chasing a demon. We'd chased 'im from Memphis. That's what we do. We hunt the things that go bump in the night. Vampires, wendigos, demons, ghosts,...angels..."

"Wait, wait, wait..." Lattimer stepped forward, his brow furrowed in conversation. "How is that..."

"Even possible?" Berring finished, rolling her eyes. "My God, Pete. After three years at this job, you're _still_ asking that?"

Sheepishly, Pete ran his hand through his short black hair, throwing her a shrug. "Aren't you?"

"Myka, Pete," Arty said warningly.

She crossed her arms over her chest, gesturing for them to continue.

Gibbs struggled to hide the slight smile that turned up the corner of his mouth. These agents fit together a lot like his team. They interacted a lot like his team.

"We follow the omens and signs, locate what's goin' on, I send my boys," Bobby gestured toward Dean and Sam, "and they investigate. I handle most of the research. Try not to do too much of the huntin' anymore. Gettin' old."

The three leaders in the room shared a knowing murmur of agreement.

"Why are you here in D.C.?" Myka asked, her curiosity evident. "How is it even possible for you to be working with NCIS?"

"Little angel on our shoulder sent us here," Dean answered gruffly, clearly agitated.

Bobby explained what had happened from the moment they'd discovered that warriors were being sacrificed. He noted McGee and his sacrifice, and expounded on Sam's condition and what had happened in Valhalla. The agents could only listen in stunned silence.

"We stopped whatever it was we were supposed to stop," Bobby finished, "but...I think Castiel used us. He wanted somethin' from there, and I think he got it. Now, Ziva's out, and I think he's to blame for it. Actually, I'm pretty damned sure he's to blame for it. Lines have been crossed here...and there's no goin' back from that."

"That would explain the spike of activity at the warehouse and the increase in cases lately," Arty mused. "Our two worlds are finally colliding. I told them this would happen after we ran into each other in Portland." A distant look entered his eyes and he murmured to himself, as if working out a problem in his mind.

"Warehouse?" McGee ventured.

Arty gestured toward Myka, turning back to his thoughts.

"Oh," she managed uncomfortably, "okay." She rocked back on her heels, clasping her hands in front of her. "Well, our job is to track down and collect dangerous artifacts. Artifacts are objects that have been infused with magical properties, through wishes or tragedy...there are numerous ways that these things are made. Once we retrieve an artifact, we transport it back to the Warehouse, where it's categorized, inventoried, and stored. Artifacts in the wrong hands can be very dangerous."

"And probably some of the omens and clues you have chased over the years have been caused by artifacts," Arty finished. "It's really...an incredible job, but very...very dangerous."

"And you people are an actual government organization?" Gibbs asked.

"We all come from various government agencies," Arty offered.

"Except me," Claudia raised her hand.

Arty cast her a slightly dirty glance, turning to his bag. "Yes. This one hacked into the warehouse mainframe and took me hostage."

Dean laughed. "That's what gets you a job these days?"

"It helps to be really, _really_ good at what you do," she squeaked.

"The warehouse is our organization. At least, the bottom of it. It's a storage facility specially equipped to handle a massive number of artifacts. We work for the regents, caretakers of the warehouses that came before. These regents have been around for millennia, more than long enough to implant themselves in any form of government in the world. That's why we're able to work the way they do. We actually have the badges you lot wish you did." He turned back to the group, holding a small box in his purple-gloved hands. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship."

"What is that?" Tony asked quietly.

"With Claudia's help,...I think this may be what saves your friends. Alone, artifacts have a singular unique effect, and with the advances in today's world...older artifacts can sometimes interact with new environments, technology, and so forth to create something...amazing. I'll have to tell you...another time." He sat the box on the sawhorse and took a step back. "This is the Courtesan's Jewel Box. If we use it with the neural analyzer and the 3D imager, we should be able to not only see, but influence whatever is happening in your agent's head. If it works, we can try the same for your brother."

"If?" Gibbs challenged.

"This isn't an exact science, Agent Gibbs. Anything at all done to help them is uncharted territory."

Gibbs gestured toward Ducky. "Our resident M.E., Dr. Donald Mallard."

"Seems like we've got everything covered, then." Arty clapped his gloved hands together. "No time like the present then, hm? Let's get started."

Claudia hoisted her bag on her shoulders, pushing through the agents until she could kneel beside Ziva. She produced a small machine, attaching several small nodes to the agent's temples. She flipped a switch, bringing it to life, checking the readout on the monitor.

"Brain activity is off the charts," she murmured to herself.

Ducky looked over the machine, adjusting his glasses. "This technology doesn't exist."

"Clearly it does," she retorted, smirking. She pulled another, larger machine from her bag, sitting it on the ground by Ziva's head.

"Is that a USB port?" McGee asked.

"Sort of." She ran the connector cable between the machines, hooking them together. "Ready here, Arty."

He lifted the box carefully. "This box will let Ziva tap into her most inner desires. Coupled with the design of the machines, it should let us see what's going on in her head. It'll be...like a compass leading her home." He laid the box gently against her chest, taking a deep breath. He slowly pried the box open as Claudia powered up the second machine.

A pulse of energy filled the room, knocking them all off balance. Bobby helped Arty right himself, unable to tear his eyes away from what was happening in front of them.

There, suspended a foot above Ziva's body, was an image, projected from the second machine. Dean stepped forward, squinting as he leaned toward the picture.

A curse dropped from his lips.

"What is it?" Pete asked, crowding in with the others for a glimpse of the image.

"I know where she is," Dean hissed angrily. "That son of a bitch."

**000086753090000**

"What?" Ziva breathed, moving in closer to the figure.

It rose to its feet again, laughing.

"Sam?"

He spun to face her, a cruel grin spreading over his face. "Oh, look, Sammy. Your girlfriend's here to play." He stumbled, grief washing over his face. He sagged. "Ziva, what are you doing here? You leave her alone!" He cracked his knuckles. "But why, Sammy? It's been _so long_ since I've had a new plaything. I'm bored, Sam!"

She pressed back against the wall. "Sam? What is going on? Are you okay?"

"Ziva!" he cried. "You gotta get outta here!"

"I do not know how! Castiel...I think he sent me here."

Sam took a few stalking steps toward her. "Cas," he laughed. "More fuel for the fire."

Ziva felt cold. Two distinct personalities were fighting a very real battle for Sam's body. There was no one else she could see in the cell with them. Blood dripped from cuts on his face and hands. His clothes were dirty and singed. Whatever battle was happening, it was violent and it was dangerous.

A sudden understanding hit her. This was Castiel's solution to Sam's problem. He'd said he couldn't fix it, so he'd provided Sam the only person who could in the only way he could. He'd sent Ziva into Sam's private hell.

"Great," she sighed, watching him stalk toward her. "What do I do now?" Every body in her muscle tensed, preparing for a fight.

Sam yelled and his body was suddenly launched forward as if he'd been tackled from behind. He hit the floor with a sickening thud, sliding a few feet before coming to a halt. Ziva leaned forward, her fists clenched at her side, her breath shaking in her chest as she struggled to breathe through the fear that held her.

A pulse hit her, knocking her off balance. A warm sensation ripped through her body, settling deep in the pit of her stomach. She exhaled slowly, letting the sensation spread through her limbs, up her spine, and into her brain. It was pleasant and warm, leaving her tingling. It was such a foreign experience for a dark cell, and she welcomed it.

Memories flashed before her eyes, flooding her vision, covering Sam's struggling form on the ground with memories of her brother, Ari. Ari faded to Rivkin and she felt herself caught up in the whirlwind that had been their romance, their stolen moments, the intimacy, the betrayal. Pain struck her and she sobbed aloud, feeling the loss as if it had just happened.

"What is this?" she breathed, wiping at the tears that dampened her cheeks, trying to force her vision through the haze. She needed to see Sam. "Sam?"

"Get out of here!" he yelled. "You shouldn't be here!" A cry of pain followed and she felt him hit the wall somewhere near her. "You're weak, Sammy."

Another wave of images hit her. Tony. She could feel his warmth, see his smile. He had been her protector from the moment she'd joined the team. He'd rescued her more times than she cared to count. Somalia. She'd never been so relieved to see his face, even when she knew in her gut that she was going to die, that his very presence there meant that he and McGee would die too.

Gibbs prevented that. Tony had pushed the investigation. He'd found the connections needed to prove a case, to get permission to run a rescue with the team. The team was her family, her support, her life. The team was larger now. Dean, Bobby, Castiel,..._Sam._

She blinked, looking up into Sam's mossy green eyes. In the midst of the flood of memories, he'd worked his way to stand in front of her. He towered over her, his eyes boring intensely into hers, warming her through to the soul.

"Ziva," he whispered, raising his hand to cup her cheek. It seemed to wind him when he made contact with her skin. "You're real. Why? What are you doing here?"

She laid her hand over his. "I am here for you, Sam." She exhaled shakily. "I am scared, but I am here."

"You shouldn't be here," he choked, "he'll get you too." His eyes slammed shut and he rocked dangerously on his feet.

She caught him, her arms snaking tightly about his torso. "There is no one here but us," she said quickly. "Just us."

"H-he's hiding. He...h-he killed Adam." A heavy tear slid down his cheek. "I killed Dean." He held to her. "You need to get a-away from me."

"Dean is alive, Sam." She wrapped her fists in the fabric of his shirt.

"Dean's alive?"

She nodded. "Zerachiel healed him and Castiel sent me here. I am not going anywhere, Sam. Not without you."

"I'm trapped." He sounded small and wounded.

She tightened her hold. "We will find a way out." She knew they'd have to find a way before the other personality showed up again. Contact with her had seemed to stabilize Sam. Since she'd had her arms around him, he'd not lapsed back into the other. "I am here to save you."

She could feel him tremble in her arms and she felt needed. Standing here with Sam was like a key fitting in a lock. An audible click sounded through the cell, causing him to look around in panic. She stepped back, taking his hand gently in her own.

"It is...a door," she murmured in fascination, finding the newly formed portal several feet away.

Sam's feet seemed to be stuck fast as he stared at the wooden door.

"Is this the way out?" she asked.

"I have spent an eternity in this cell. I...I know how many steps from wall to wall...I can tell you every crack, every dent...There has _never _been a door here."

She coaxed him into looking at her, holding reassuringly to his hands. "You have to listen to me, Sam. I...feel that this is the way home. It is a certainty I cannot explain." She forced him to hold her eyes. "This thing you are fighting," she bit her lip, "...Sam, I think we are _in_ your head. I saw you...when you were attacked...it all comes from you. This horrible tragedy is a...it is a part of you now, and if you are going to survive,...if we are going to get out of here,...you have to understand that he is not real."

Confusion clouded his face. "I...I beat myself up?" He looked over his exposed skin, his eyes tracing the cuts and bruises marring the flesh.

She nodded.

"So this...all of this...it wasn't real?" He stumbled, shaking his head. "It wasn't real. It _isn't_ real."

She pulled him slowly toward the door. "Come on, Sam. We can go home. Together."

The door creaked open and fresh, cold air streamed into the room. She started to step through, but felt Sam rip violently backward from her grip. He cried out.

"No!" she bellowed, throwing herself back toward his retreating body, locking her hands firmly about his wrists. She swung him, putting his back toward the door. "I am sorry!" She threw herself against him, knocking him backward through the doorway.

Everything faded into white.

**tbc...**


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Can't believe we're finally here...the end. It has been a long and very interesting ride, and I have enjoyed sharing with you. There might be another installment in the future.**

**Content advisory: Mature-ish. (Teehee).**

Dean and Pete roused first among those in the basement, pushing themselves slowly into a sitting position. Their eyes met as they looked around the room, sharing a brief moment of controlled panic. What had just happened?

The agent in Pete took over and he crawled quickly to his partner, shaking Myka gently to wake her. He began to make his way around the room as Dean went to his brother, praying that whatever had just happened had work. An explosion of light had corrupted the image they'd seen and shorted out the 3D imager, the intensity of the light knocking them back and stunning them.

"Sammy?" Dean asked fearfully, cupping his brother's face in his hands.

The younger man seemed to be stirring, his breath struggling from his chest, his eyes moving rapidly beneath his eyelids. For the first time, hope flared to life in Dean's chest, warming him through and filling him with anxiety.

The others were slowly picking themselves up off the floor, taking stock of themselves. Tony had gone immediately to Ziva and gathered her in his arms, the NCIS team around the both of them.

She blinked sluggishly, slowly returning to her senses, finding herself looking up into Tony's anxious face. He smiled widely as she met his eyes, relief flooding through him like a river.

"Hey," he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "Welcome back, Zi."

Arty reached between them and retrieved the jewelry box, dropping it into a silver bag. Sparks flew as he quickly sealed the bag, locking the artifact inside.

"Is...is everyone alright?" she asked softly.

Gibbs squeezed her hand. "We're good, Zi. Are you...?" He was almost afraid to ask, having seen what she'd seen.

With Tony's help, she managed to sit up, using her partner as support. "I am fine." She took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Sam? Is he out too?"

"We'll know soon," Claudia answered. "We expected to bring one of you at a time. It'll take a few minutes to see if it worked." She and Ducky had pushed in beside Dean and were fussing over the younger Winchester, taking vitals and checking his brain activity. "Brain scan shows a high level of activity."

"Yes," Ducky agreed, "it seems he is responding to stimuli now. Our young hero will be back with us shortly, I believe." He turned to the room, smiling. "My, what an entirely unexpected experience."

"You get used to the weird in our line of work," Lattimer offered.

Ducky chuckled, moving to check the others in the room for injury. "So it would appear, dear boy, so it would appear."

Bobby shook Arty's hand. "Thank you...for your help," he said gruffly. "Callin' ya'll...that was the last thing I ever thought I'd be doin'."

"We're glad you did, actually," he replied quietly. "The regents have been anxious to find out what's got everything out of balance. They were particularly interested when you contacted the Warehouse."

"They are aware that this exposes them, yeah? 'Til now, no one has spoken publicly of the regents. They're puttin' themselves in danger."

"A risk they were willing to take." Arty sighed. "They don't tell me anything, but...I would guess that if they're interested in merging our business with yours...then the world is in a very, very bad place. Their safety means nothing if the world is destroyed."

Bobby grunted in acknowledgement. Arty had a point. The latter adjusted his glasses.

"I can offer ya whatever I have. Got some of it upstairs, if you wanna have a look. We can give Sam some air." He locked eyes with Dean, offering him a bit of reassurance. He waited for the younger man's nod before he gestured for Arty to follow.

Myka and Pete fell in behind the two men, leaving the NCIS team with Claudia, Sam, and Dean. Ducky had moved to Ziva, checking her vitals, searching for injury, his concern evident.

"I am fine, Ducky," she assured gently.

He favored her with a tender look. "My dear, we all saw where you were." He suppressed a shiver. "Anyone would be affected...I simply need to make sure you are alright."

"I was in Hell," she murmured absently, her eyes trailing back to rake over Sam.

They nodded, no one daring to speak.

"It was the Hell in Sam's mind," she clarified. "He was trapped in a Hell of his own making...the memory of his time in the pit."

"Whoa!" Claudia interjected. "You mean, he's actually _been_ to _Hell?_ Like...fire...brimstone...everything?"

"Pretty much," Gibbs affirmed, "but that's somethin' they'll have to tell you. Not our place to tell."

She bit her lip, glancing back over her shoulder. Dean knelt beside his brother, watching him intently, concern drawing deep lines in his young face. The depth of love he had for his brother was evident. Her eyes swept over Sam's face and she saw his struggle again. The images of what they'd seen were imprinted in her mind. Something had ripped Sam away from the door. It was like he'd been grabbed from behind, but nothing had been there.

"Kinda thought I'd seen everything," she mused, "working at the warehouse..."

"Day's not over yet," Dean finally spoke, looking up at her. "Stick around. You might find something else."

She nodded, fidgeting under the intensity of his gaze.

"Thank you...all of you...for your help."

She smiled. "Any time."

Ducky sat back, giving Ziva the all clear. Tony helped her to her feet and everyone stood around them.

"You alright?" Tony asked.

She nodded, "I am a little weak, but I am fine, Tony. Thank you." She allowed him to keep his arm around her waist, supporting her weight.

"How'd you end up in Sam's head?" Gibbs demanded quietly.

"Castiel."

Dean cursed. "I knew it."

She shook her head. "It was odd. I do not think he meant to hurt me. He would not have sent me there if I could not have helped Sam. I _know_ that."

"Maybe not," Dean growled, "but this was a distraction. We've gotta find out what he's up to..." He trailed off abruptly as his brother stirred, slight twitches firing through his body as his limbs woke. "Sammy?"

"D-Dean?" he managed sluggishly, his eyes slowly blinking open.

"Yeah, Gigantor. It's me."

Ducky edged his way in next to the cot, immediately tending to the waking man. Dean could have sobbed with joy. He'd never get used to watching Sam suffer. It took so much out of him, not being able to help.

"Welcome back, Samuel," Ducky greeted, detaching the nodes from Sam's forehead and temples, satisfied with the latest neural reading from the strange machine. "Are you injured?"

Sam took mental stock of himself, tensing and flexing muscles, before shaking his head. "How's Ziva?" he asked.

She detached herself from Tony's side and made her way to the cot, taking Ducky's place, taking Sam's warm hand in her own. She smiled, reaching out to gently caress his cheek.

"Welcome home."

**000086753090000**

"First edition?" Arty held up a copy of an ancient text, the title of the book scrawled out by written hand, illegible in the best of circumstances. He carefully flipped through the pages, his eyes drinking in the information hungrily. "Incredible. Where did you get this?"

Bobby chuckled, picking through the stack of books and papers, passing selected tomes to Pete and Myka. "If I told ya, I'd have to kill ya." He glanced back toward the basement. "You...acquire things when you've been around as long as I have. You inherit things when your partners die...and some of it...ya write yourself." He looked back down at the book he held. John's journal.

Myka, despite her obsession with literature, found she couldn't tear her eyes away from the hunter. The book she held found her lap. There was something about this man that she couldn't quite place. It fascinated her. It depressed her. Sadness, heartache, and loss seemed to be written across his whole body, etched into his face, worried into his shoulders. He was masterful at hiding it, but it called out to her plainly.

"I think the best way to repay this favor...is to bring you to the warehouse," Arty murmured. "I don't think we can go back to working as separate teams now. There is only one way forward from here."

"I agree." Bobby carefully laid the journal back on the top of the stack, his hand resting briefly on the cover. He sighed. "I'm...I'm sure there's a lotta risk with your job. If this is gonna happen, you need to know...once you get into this life, you don't get back out again. We're gonna be huntin' each other's monsters. You _all_ will be hunters. The only way out...is to die. Trouble will always find you."

"I heard a speech a lot like that once," Myka said quietly, remembering Rebecca, one of the former warehouse agents they'd encountered since taking their job. She'd been roped back in to solving some of her old cases, and had died in the warehouse.

"We took this job because the world isn't gonna save itself," Pete offered. "Myka, she tried to leave, but," he pointed to where she sat beside him, "you see how well that worked out. Nobody else is gonna do this job. Might as well be us." He indicated that it applied to everyone in the house and nodded in respect toward Bobby.

Noise from the basement drew their attention and Claudia soon topped the stairs, a triumphant grin on her face. She practically skipped into the living room, beaming at her team. "That was _awesome!_ Please tell me we're gonna keep doing this. Not that warehouse stuff isn't cool...'cause it is...but..."

"Claudia," Arty warned, silencing her next words before they crossed her lips. He shrugged apologetically. "Kids."

The NCIS team filed slowly from the basement, Ziva and Sam bringing up the rear, hand-in-hand. They gathered in the living room, taking the seats that were available. Sam settled into an arm chair, Ziva sitting in front of him, her back resting back against his legs.

"Thank you," he said quietly, taking a moment to look each of them in the eyes. "I know it's not enough, but...thank you."

"You alright?" Pete asked, genuinely concerned.

He nodded once. "The decisions I made weakened the wall that Death put in my head when he returned my soul. My soul had been in Lucifer's cage for a very long time. When I thought Kali had killed you all...I..." he swallowed nervously, "I just wanted her to pay." It took a long, uncomfortable moment for him to meet his brother's eyes. "I couldn't stop him...I felt you die."

"We had an angel lookin' out for us," Dean replied gruffly. "You know how it is for us...we can't even die right."

"Doesn't make it any less real."

They shared a moment of understanding. After everything they'd been through, not just since they'd taken over the family business, but since they were children, death would never be commonplace to them. Not when it involved family. Eventually, they would have served their purpose. Eventually, there would be no need to bring them back.

Arty cleared his throat as the silence drew out, bringing all eyes to him. "Will NCIS continue to have a role now that you've closed the case?"

"They're needed here," Bobby answered. "They've been through enough."

It had been a long time since any of them had thought about life after the case was solved. Their destinies had been entwined for months now; the hunters seemed like family to the government team, and the sentiment was returned ten fold. The thoughts of parting ways cast a sad shadow over the room.

Gibbs shifted in his seat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his hands clasping in front of his face. "Director Vance has given us a week to recover. There's a pile up of cases that he's anxious to have taken care of. The other teams have been taking up slack, but Vance isn't satisfied with the results. We'll be evaluated on Saturday and back to work on Monday morning." He looked between the three hunters, fixing his eyes to Sam last and holding the younger man's gaze. "The nation thanks you for your service, even if they don't know exactly what you did...or that you were even involved."

They acknowledged their thanks quietly, knowing it was thanks from Gibbs himself.

"We have been authorized to do one last thing for you, something that will make your jobs a lot less...illegal." He stood, pulling a box out from under the sofa. He lifted the lid and held the box out for Bobby. Inside laid three new government identifications, branded as NCIS. "Director Vance seems to think that your work is valuable after all. If anyone calls to verify your identity, they will be linked directly to Vance...not to Mr. Singer here."

"Legal!" Dean exclaimed, taking his ID. "Really?"

"Hard to do your job when you're in danger of bein' tossed in jail for impersonating a government official, don't ya think?" Gibbs retorted, struggling to hide his grin.

"Agent Gibbs," Arty stepped up, shaking his hand, "you've just made the transition so much easier."

"Just takin' care of my boys." He tightened his grip before stepping away, resuming his seat. The message was clear: _I expect you to do the same._

"Well then," he clapped his hands together, "let's get started, shall we?"

**000086753090000**

Sam and Dean stood alone in the room that they'd occupied since arriving at Gibbs' house. The reality had set in hard after the meeting in the living room. This was the end of the journey. Tomorrow morning, they would be leaving with the team from the warehouse, heading into territory unknown.

Sam packed in silence, trying to keep his mind over the upcoming move. This was the longest they'd stayed in one place for as long as he could remember. He had started to put down roots without even realizing it. He had Ziva. Now, he was getting ready to drive away from all of it, all in the name of duty. He couldn't help but feel bitter, but he knew he had no choice. Not anymore. The decisions that he'd made in his life had left him with only one way to live.

"You alright?" Dean asked, immediately kicking himself for the stupid question. "I mean...I know..."

Sam waved dismissively, sitting the half packed bag on the bed. "I'm okay. I'm just not...I'm not ready to leave."

Dean nodded. "Ziva."

The younger man sighed, sitting down heavily in the chair by the bed.

"I get that." He had, after all, had Lisa and Ben. They had been his taste of the normal life, and of any woman he'd ever met, Lisa had been the one he would have married. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

He shook his head. "I get that this has to happen. She's safer this way. We'll never be able to settle down...have that apple pie life..." He paused, searching for what he wanted to say.

"Doesn't mean you have to like it." He sat down beside his brother and they shared a brief moment, acknowledging what they'd lost. Dean would never see Lisa or Ben again. "Ya know," he finally murmured, "you _do_ still have tonight."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Sam's mouth. "Yeah."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder, pushing back to his feet and grabbing their bag. He continued to move about the room, grabbing gear and clothes, packing them away for the next day's journey.

A knock sounded on the door frame a few minutes later and Ziva stepped inside, accepting Dean's unexpected hug. He excused himself from the room, taking the packed bag with him.

"Did I interrupt something?" she asked, still just inside the door.

"We were just talking." He smiled slightly in an attempt to reassure her, though he felt sick, knowing what lay ahead.

She closed the door behind her, moving slowly toward Sam.

"I don't want to leave," he confessed as she came to a stop in front of him. "I'm not ready to leave you."

"This does not mean that we will never see each other again, Sam." She took his hands in her own. "I have said goodbye to many men that I might have grown to love. Most of them are dead now."

He felt his heart sink. "Ziva, I..."

"I do not think it will be the same with you," she interjected, "and do not tell me that I should just...move on, because I do not even know what we have yet. I want to know, Sam."

He felt his knees weaken, a sensation he'd long forgotten.

"Besides," she rose onto the tips of her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck, bringing their lips dangerously close, "Tony said that if you 'emerge' before we figure it out, he will break your legs."

Startled, he couldn't help but chuckle. The amusement disappeared as she pressed her lips to his. A familiar rush flooded his body, much as it had in the hospital, sending images flashing before his eyes, images of the two of them entwined, melting into each other. He groaned deep in his throat, losing himself in the intensity. She knew exactly what she wanted and it didn't appear that she was going to be shy about getting it.

The visions blurred together and he lost himself in the midst of them, hardly aware that Ziva's fingers were skilfully working on the buttons of his shirt, brushing the fabric away from his chest.

Mustering his fleeting willpower, he grabbed her wrists, and met her eyes. The fever he felt was mirrored in her gaze.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked, his voice husky.

She silenced him with a deeper kiss, her fingertips working slow circles across his now exposed skin. Chills followed in their wake as she made her way down, hooking into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them free of his hips. His back found the wall, using the unyielding surface to support his weight.

It took a while for him to respond in kind, his hands finally moving to pull her shirt over her head, his fingers deftly unhooking her bra. He grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her, marvelling at the feel of her perfect breasts against his bare chest. The effect was intoxicating.

She turned him, pushing him forcefully back toward the bed, slipping out of his arms as he tumbled backward onto the mattress. Shoes and pants were stripped and deposited haphazardly on the floor, soon finding the two lovers entwined together, skin against skin, amidst the covers.

Their love-making was passionate, a reflection of their desperation to hold on to the time that was quickly slipping away from them. They fit together in compliment, her body easily cradling his large frame, her legs wrapped about his waist. She rose up into his thrusts, taking his full length, moaning her pleasure softly against his neck.

They came together and, spent, he found his back, pulling her into his embrace. His heart thundered in his chest and his mind raced. He could have kicked himself. It had been years since he'd felt anything like what Ziva inspired in him, and the moment he'd felt her lips on his, he'd known. He should have pursued things after she kissed him in the hospital. They had lost so much time.

She propped up on her elbow, a slight smile touching her lips as she gazed down at him. "I believe that answered any questions we...might have had."

He nodded, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "I shouldn't have waited. I knew."

A shadow of sadness seemed to drop over her before she schooled it away, covering it with another coy smile. "I suppose you shall just have to find a way to make it up to me then, hmm?" She tweaked his erect nipple.

He scooped her up and deposited her in his lap, a growl tearing from his throat. "Yes, ma'am."

**000086753090000**

Breakfast found the kitchen too small to hold all the new additions to the household, but no one seemed to be complaining. Dean sat on the sofa, nursing a hot plate, absently eating. He'd been doing his best to keep his mind off of leaving. It had been a long time since he'd found companionship like what he had with the NCIS team.

Tony sat beside him, just as despondent. He was going to miss having his less polished twin by his side.

Dean cast a glance over his shoulder, checking the hallway. "Think they're ever gonna come outta there?" he grunted.

"Well," Tony shrugged, "Ziva is _quite_ a hand full. Might have to get a hose..." he trailed off thoughtfully.

The hunter snorted, almost upending his plate into his lap.

"The hose will not be necessary." Ziva sauntered into the living room, barefoot, dressed in jeans and Sam's over-sized shirt, unable to hide her smirk of amusement. "Sam is in the shower."

"Good!" Arty sounded, breezing into the room. "Artifacts won't collect themselves!" He headed out the front door, closely followed by his team.

Ziva watched them go, feeling dread flood the pit of her stomach. It wouldn't be long before she was bidding them all goodbye, before she would be left behind. She jumped, startled, as Dean's face swam into view.

"Look," he said quietly, "I know this is gonna be hard for you. I know...what you're feelin'. There's a part of me that wishes...that you and Sam hadn't found each other...but that's what saved him. _You_ saved him..." An understanding he hadn't been expecting dawned on him and he paused, turning the thought over and over in his mind.

"Dean?" she prodded gently. "Are you alright?"

He shook himself, turning his attention back to the present. In a moment of instinct, he wrapped her in a tight hug. "Thank you for saving my brother," he whispered.

She returned his embrace. "Thank you for saving us."

**000086753090000**

Bags had been packed, books, boxes and weapons had found their way back to their rightful vehicles. Sam and Dean had left the agents a small arsenal, determined that they'd have enough protection from anything supernatural until they could make it back to help.

It was a solemn group that waited outside, finding it difficult to say goodbye. Gruffly, Bobby murmured an awkward thanks, and shook hands with the team, Dean following in his footsteps. Sam fell into the line, shaking hands with Gibbs, Tony, and McGee, dreading reaching the end of the line where Ziva stood. Ducky, Palmer, Vance, and Abby had sent their regards through the agents, unable to leave work.

Time stood still for no one, however, and Sam soon found himself facing the inevitable, his heart in his throat. She looked up at him through damp lashes, determined not to cry. Gently, he took her hands in his and simply drank her in, memorizing every detail of her face, committing them to memory.

She bit her lip, conjuring a brilliant smile for him. "Do not be a stranger," she managed, her voice surprisingly steady.

His resolve faltering, he pulled her into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I'll be back soon," he promised.

Reluctantly, they tore themselves away, retiring to their own cars. The agents seemed to disappear far too quickly, fading into the distance as the new team headed off for the unknown.

**End**

**A/N: Sorry this took so long, but that happens when I decide to end an installment. Endings are the hardest for me to write, especially when I get attached to this story. I hope you enjoyed, even if this chapter is a bit sloppy, and thank you for those of you who have continued to uplift me in review.**

**In the future, there will most likely be a part 3, currently untitled, Warehouse 13/SPN fic with an appearance from NCIS.**


End file.
